THE  ADVENTURES 
OF  A  MODEST  MAN 


ROBERT  W.  CHAMBER 


i  ' 


ADVENTURES  of 
A    MODEST    MAN 


Works  of  Robert  W.  Chambers 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 
Ailsa  Paige 

The  Green  Mouse 
loic 

The  Reckoning 
The  Maid -at- Arms 
Cardigan 

The  Haunts  of  Men 
The  Mystery  of  Choice 
The  Cambric  Mask 
The  Maker  of  Moons 
The  King  in  Yellow 
In   Search    of    the  Un 
known 

The  Conspirators 
A     King     and    a    Few 

Dukes 
In  the  Quarter 


The  Danger  Mark 
Special  Messenger 
The  Firing  Line 
The  Younger  Set 
The  Fighting  Chance 
Some  Ladies  in  Haste 
The  Tree  of  Heaven 
The     Tracer     of     Lost 

Persons 
A    Young     Man    in    a 

Hurry 
Lorraine 

Maids  of  Paradise 
Ashes  of  Empire 
The  Red  Republic 
Outsiders 


For  Children 

Garden-Land  Mountain-Land 

Forest-Land  Orchard-Land 

River- Land  Outdoorland 

Hide  and  Seek  in  Forest-Land 


140 


<"I  realised  that  I  was  going  to  kiss  her  if  she  didn't 
move.   .  .   .   And — she  didn't.'  ' 

[Page  276.] 


'Che  ADVENTURES  of 
A   MODEST  MAN 

3)y  ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 

EDMUND   FREDERICK 


D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 
NEW    YORK    AND     LONDON:     MCMXI 


COPYRIGHT,  1900, 1911,  BY 
ROBERT  W.   CHAMBERS 


Copyright,  1904,  by  Harper  &  Brothers 
Copyright,  1904, 1905, 1910,  by  The  Curtis  Publishing  Company 


Published  February,  1911 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


TO 

MR.  AND  MRS.  C.  WHEATON  VAUGHAN 

This  volume  packed  with  bric-a-brac 

I  offer  you  with  my  affection, — 
The  story  halts,  the  rhymes  are  slack- 
Poor  stuff  to  add  to  your  collection. 
Gems  you  possess  from  ages  back : 
It  is  the  modern  junk  you  lack. 

We  three  once  moused  through  marble  halls, 

Immersed  in  Art  and  deep  dejection, 
Mid  golden  thrones  and  choir-stalls 
And  gems  beyond  my  recollection — 
Yet  soft ! — my  memory  recalls 
Eed  labels  pasted  on  the  walls ! 

And  so,  perhaps,  my  bric-a-brac 

May  pass  the  test  of  your  inspection  ; 

Perhaps  you  will  not  send  it  back, 

But  place  it — if  you've  no  objection — 

Under  some  nick-nack  laden  rack 

Where  platters  dangle  on  a  tack. 

So  if  you'll  take  this  book  from  me 

And  hide  it  in  your  cupboards  laden 
Beside  some  Dresden  filigree 
And  frivolously  fetching  maiden — 
Who  knows? — that  Dresden  maid  may  see 
My  book— and  read  it  through  pardie  ! 

R.  W.  C. 


9IS806 


"  Senilis  stultitia  quae  deliratio  appellari 
solet,  senum  levium  est,  non  omnium." 


CONTENTS 


I.— CONCERNING  Two  GENTLEMEN 

FROM  LONG  ISLAND,  DESTINY, 

j 
AND  A  POT  OF  BLACK  PAINT   .         1  PAQE 

H.—A    CHAPTER    DEPICTING    A    RATHER    GARRULOUS 

REUNION 14 

III.— TROUBLE  FOR  Two 25 

IV. — WHEREIN  A  MODEST  MAN  Is  BULLIED  AND  A  LITER 
ARY  MAN  PRACTICES  STYLE 42 

V. — DREAMLAND     .              58 

VI. — SOUL  AND  BODY 74 

VII. — THE  BITER,  THE  BITTEN,  AND  THE  UN-BITTEN     .        .  85 

VIII. — A  MATTER  OF  PRONUNCIATION 98 

IX.-FATE 1°4 

X— CHANCE 117 

XL— DESTINY 129 

XII. — IN  WHICH  A  MODEST  MAN  MAUNDERS     .       .        .143 

XIIL— A  CHANCE  ACQUAINTANCE 154 

XIV.— A  STATE  OF  MIND 168 

xi 


Contents 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

XV. — FLOTSAM  AND  JETSAM 181 

XVI. — THE  SIMPLEST  SOLUTION  OF  AN  ANCIENT  PROBLEM  194 

XVII. — SHOWING  How  IT  Is  POSSIBLE  FOR  ANY  MAN  TO 

MAKE  OF  HIMSELF  A  CHUMP  .  208 

XVIII. — THE  MASTER  KNOT  OF  HUMAN  FATE      .       .       .  221 

XIX.— THE  TIME  AND  THE  PLACE 234 

XX.— DOWN  THE  SEINE 242 

XXI. — IN  A  BELGIAN  GARDEN 269 

XXII.— A  YOUTHFUL  PATRIOT 287 

XXIII.— ON  THE  WALL .292 

XXIV. — A  JOURNEY  TO  THE  MOON 303 

XXV.— THE  'ARMY  OF  PARIS  316 


LIST  OF 
ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING 
PAGE 

'"I   realised   that   I   was    going    to   kiss   her   if   she   didn't 
move.    .    .    .   And — she  didn't'"  .        .•,     Frontispiece 

" ' Give  up  my  dead! '  she  whispered.     '  Give  tip  my  dead! '  "       40 
"  Christmas  Eve  she  knelt,  crying,  before  the  pedestal  "     .       80 

"'Only  one  person  in  the  world   can   ever  matter  to  me — 

now'" 140 

"Beyond,  rocking  wildly  in  a  gilded   boat,  sat   two   people 

and  a  placid  swan" 190 

'"I — I  don't  know,'  she    stammered;    'my  shoe  seems  tied 

to  yours ' " .        .        .     214 


AN    INADVERTENT    POEM 


There  is  a  little  flow-urr 

In  our  yard  it  does  grow 

Where  many  a  happy  hou-urr 

I  "watch  our  rooster  crow; 

While  clothes  hang  on  the  clothes-line 

And  plowing  has  began 

— And  the  name  they  call  this  lit-tul  vine 

Is  just  "  Old  Man.1' 

Old  Man,  Old  Man 
A-gr owing  in  our  yard, 
Every  spring  a-coming  up 
While  yet  the  ground  is  har-rrd; 
Pottering  'round  the  chickens'  pan. 
Creeping  low  and  slow, 
And  why  they  call  it  Old  Man 
I  never  asked  to  know. 
I  never  want  to  know. 
xv 


An  Inadvertent  Poem 


Crawling  through  the  chick-weed, 
Dragging  through  the  quack, 
Pussly,   tansy,  tick-weed 
Almost  break  his  back. 
Catnip,  cockle,  dock  prevent 
His  travelling  all  they  can, 
But  still  he  goes  the  ways  he's  went, 
Poor  Old  Man! 

Old  Man,  Old  Man, 
What's  the  use  of  you? 
No  one  wants  to  see  you,  like 
As  if  you  hadn't  grew. 
You  ain't  no  good  to  nothing 
So  far  as  I  can  see, 
Unless  some  maiden  fair  will  sing 
These  lines  I've  wrote  to  thee. 
And  sing  'em  soft  to  me. 


Some  maiden  fa-hair 

W*T.     (    ra-haven    )     ,    . 
With    -<  Y     hair 

(  go-holden  ) 

Will  si-hing  this  so-hong 
To  me-hee-ee! 


CHAPTER    I 

CONCERNING    TWO     GENTLEMEN     FROM    LONG    ISLAND, 
DESTINY,    AND    A    POT    OF    BLACK    PAINT 

HELLO,  old  man !  "  he  began. 
"Gillian,"   I   said,   "don't   call   me   'Old 
Man.'    At  twenty,  it  flattered  me ;  at  thirty, 
it  was  all  right;  at   forty,  I  suspected  double  en 
tendre;  and  now  I  don't  like  it." 

"  Of  course,  if  you  feel  that  way,"  he  protested, 
smiling. 

"Well,    I    do,    dammit!"— the    last    a    German 
phrase.     I  am  rather  strong  on  languages. 

Now  another  thing  that  is  irritating —     I've  got 
2  1 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

ahead  of  my  story,  partly,,  perhaps,  because  I  hesi 
tate  tc  earner,  to- the:  |>6iftV ,..' 

For  I  have  a  certain  delicacy  in  admitting  that 
my  second  visit  abroad,  after  twenty  years,  was  due 
to  a  pig.  So  now  that  the  secret  is  out — the  pig 
also — I'll  begin  properly. 

I  purchased  the  porker  at  a  Long  Island  cattle 
show;  why,  I  don't  know,  except  that  my  neighbor, 
Gillian  Schuyler  Van  Dieman,  put  me  up  to  it. 

We  are  an  inoffensive  community  maintaining  a 
hunt  club  and  the  traditions  of  a  by-gone  generation. 
To  the  latter  our  children  refuse  to  subscribe. 

Our  houses  are  what  are  popularly  known  as  "  fine 
old  Colonial  mansions."  They  were  built  recently. 
So  was  the  pig.  You  see,  I  can  never  get  away  from 
that  pig,  although — but  the  paradox  might  injure 
the  story.  It  has  sufficiently  injured  me — the  pig 
and  the  story,  both. 

The  architecture  of  the  pig  was  a  kind  of  degen 
erate  Chippendale,  modified  by  Louis  XVI  and 
traces  of  Bavarian  baroque.  And  his  squeal  resem 
bled  the  atmospheric  preliminaries  for  a  Texas 
norther. 

Van  Dieman  said  I  ought  to  buy  him.  I  bought 
him.  My  men  built  him  a  chaste  bower  to  leeward 
of  an  edifice  dedicated  to  cows. 


Two  Gentlemen  from  Long  Island 

Here  I  sometimes  came  to  contemplate  him  while 
my  horse  was  being  saddled. 

That  particular  morning,  when  Van  Dieman  sa 
luted  me  so  suspiciously  at  the  country  club,  I  had 
been  gazing  at  the  pig. 

And  now,  as  we  settled  down  to  our  morning  game 
of  chess,  I  said: 

"  Van,  that  pig  of  mine  seems  to  be  in  nowise  re 
markable.  Why  the  devil  do  you  suppose  I  bought 
him?" 

"How  do  I  know?" 

"  You  ought  to.  You  suggested  that  I  buy  him. 
Why  did  you?" 

"  To  see  whether  you  would." 

I  said  rather  warmly :  "  Did  you  think  me  weak- 
minded  enough  to  do  whatever  you  suggested  ?  " 

"  The  fact  remains  that  you  did,"  he  said  calmly, 
pushing  the  king's  knight  to  queen's  bishop  six. 

"Did  what?"  I  snapped. 

"  What  you  didn't  really  want  to  do." 

"Buy  the  pig?" 

"  Exactly." 

I  thought  a  moment,  took  a  pawn  with  satisfac 
tion,  considered. 

"  Van,"  I  said,  "  why  do  you  suppose  I  bought 
that  pig?" 

"  Ennui." 

3 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  A  man  doesn't  buy  pigs  to  escape  from  ennui!  " 

"  You  can't  predict  what  a  man  will  do  to  escape 
it,"  he  said,  smiling.  "  The  trouble  with  you  is  that 
you're  been  here  too  long ;  you're  in  a  rut ;  you're 
gone  stale.  Year  in,  year  out,  you  do  the  same 
things  in  the  same  way,  rise  at  the  same  time,  retire 
at  the  same  hour,  see  the  same  people,  drive,  motor, 
ride,  potter  about  your  lawns  and  gardens,  come 
here  to  the  club — and  it's  enough  to  petrify  any 
body's  intellect." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  mine " 

"  Partly.  Don't  get  mad.  No  man  who  lives  year 
after  year  in  a  Long  Island  community  could  escape 
it.  What  you  need  is  to  go  abroad.  What  you  re 
quire  is  a  good  dose  of  Paris." 

"  For  twenty  odd  years  I  have  avoided  Paris,"  I 
said,  restlessly.  "Why  should  I  go  back  there?" 

"  Haven't  you  been  there  in  twenty  years  ?  " 

"  No." 

"Why?" 

"  Well,  for  one  thing,  to  avoid  meeting  the  entire 
United  States." 

"  All  right,"  said  Van  Dieman,  "  if  you  want  to 
become  an  old  uncle  foozle,  continue  to  take  root  in 
Long  Island."  He  announced  mate  in  two  moves. 
After  I  had  silently  conceded  it,  he  leaned  back  in 
his  chair  and  lighted  a  cigarette. 

4 


Two  Gentlemen  from  Long  Island 

"  It's  my  opinion,"  he  said,  "  that  you've  already 
gone  too  stale  to  take  care  of  your  own  pig." 

Even  years  of  intimacy  scarcely  justified  this. 

"  When  the  day  comes,"  said  I,  "  that  I  find  my 
self  no  longer  competent  to  look  after  my  own  af 
fairs,  I'll  take  your  advice  and  get  out  of  Long 
Island." 

He  looked  up  with  a  smile.  "  Suppose  somebody 
stole  that  pig,  for  instance." 

"  They  couldn't." 

"  Suppose  they  did,  under  your  very  nose." 

"  If  anything  happens  to  that  pig,"  I  said — "  any 
thing  untoward,  due  to  any  negligence  or  stupidity 
of  mine,  I'll  admit  that  I  need  waking  up.  .  .  .  Now 
get  that  pig  if  you  can !  " 

"  Will  you  promise  to  go  to  Paris  for  a  jolly  little 
jaunt  if  anything  does  happen  to  your  pig?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Why  the  devil  do  you  want  me  to  go  to 
Paris?" 

"  Do  you  good,  intellectually." 

Then  I  got  mad. 

"  Van,"  I  said,  "  if  anybody  can  get  that  pig  away 
from  me,  I'll  do  anything  you  suggest  for  the  next 
six  months." 

"  A  nous  deux,  alors!  "  he  said.  He  speaks  French 
too  fast  for  me  to  translate.  It's  a  foolish  way  to 

5 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

talk  a  foreign  language.     But  he  has  never  yet  been 
able  to  put  it  over  me. 

"  A  la  guerre  comme  a  la  guerre"  I  replied  care 
lessly.  It's  a  phrase  one  can  use  in  reply  to  any  re 
mark  that  was  ever  uttered  in  French.  I  use  it  con 
stantly. 

That  afternoon  I  went  and  took  a  good  look  at  my 
pig.  Later,  as  I  was  walking  on  the  main  street  of 
Oyster  Bay,  a  man  touched  his  hat  and  asked  me  for 
a  job.  Instantly  it  occurred  to  me  to  hire  him  as 
night  watchman  for  the  pig.  He  had  excellent  ref 
erences,  and  his  countenance  expressed  a  capacity 
for  honest  and  faithful  service.  That  night  before 
I  went  to  bed,  I  walked  around  to  the  sty.  My  man 
was  there  on  duty. 

"  That,"  thought  I,  "  will  hold  Van  Dieman  for 
a  while." 

When  my  daughters  had  retired  and  all  the  ser 
vants  were  abed,  I  did  a  thing  I  have  not  done  in 
years — not  since  I  was  a  freshman  at  Harvard:  I 
sat  up  with  my  pipe  and  an  unexpurged  translation 
of  Henry  James  until  nearly  eleven  o'clock.  How 
ever,  by  midnight  I  was  asleep. 

It  was  full  starlight  when  I  awoke  and  jumped 
softly  out  of  bed.  Somebody  was  tapping  at  the 
front  door.  I  put  on  a  dressing-gown  and  slippers 

6 


Two  Gentlemen  from  Long  Island 

and  waited;  but   no   servants   were   aroused  by   the 
persistent  rapping. 

After  a  moment  I  went  to  the  window,  raised  it; 
gently  and  looked  out.  A  farmer  with  a  lantern, 
stood  below. 

"  Say,  squire,"  he  said,  when  he  beheld  my  head, 
"  I  guess  I'll  have  to  ask  for  help.  I'm  on  my  way 
to  market  and  my  pig  broke  loose  and  I  can't  ketch 
him  nohow." 

"Hush!"  I  whispered;  "I'll  come  down." 

Very  cautiously  I  unbarred  the  front  door  and 
stepped  out  into  the  lovely  April  starlight.  In  the 
road  beyond  my  hedge  stood  a  farm-wagon  contain 
ing  an  empty  crate.  Near  it  moved  the  farmer,  and 
just  beyond  his  outstretched  hands  sported  a  playful 
pig.  He  was  a  black  pig.  Mine  was  white.  Be 
sides  I  went  around  to  the  pen  and  saw,  in  the  dark 
ness,  my  Oyster  Bay  retainer  still  on  guard.  So,  it 
being  a  genuine  case,  I  returned  to  the  road. 

The  farmer's  dilemma  touched  me.  What  in  the 
world  was  so  utterly  hopeless  to  pursue,  unaided,  as 
a  coy  pig  at  midnight. 

"  If  you  will  just  stand  there,  squire,  and  sorter 
spread  out  your  skirts,  I'll  git  him  in  a  jiffy,"  said 
the  panting  farmer. 

I  did  as  I  was  bidden.  The  farmer  approached; 
the  pig  pranced  between  his  legs. 

7 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  By  gum !  "  exclaimed  the  protected  of  Ceres. 

But,  after  half  an  hour,  the  pig  became  over-confi 
dent,  and  the  tiller  of  phosphites  seized  him  and  bore 
him,  shrieking,  to  the  wooden  crate  in  the  wagon, 
there  depositing  him,  fastening  the  door,  and  climb 
ing  into  his  seat  with  warm  thanks  to  me  for  my  aid. 

I  told  the  Brother  to  the  Ox  that  he  was  welcome. 
Then,  with  heart  serenely  warmed  by  brotherly  love 
and  a  knowledge  of  my  own  condescension,  I  retired 
to  sleep  soundly  until  Higgins  came  to  shave  me  at 
eight  o'clock  next  morning. 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir,"  said  Higgins,  stirring  his 
lather  as  I  returned  from  the  bath  to  submit  my  chin 
to  his  razor — "  beg  pardon,  sir,  but — but  the  pig, 
sir " 

"What  pig?"  I  asked  sharply.  Had  Higgins 
beheld  me  pursuing  that  midnight  porker?  And  if 
he  had,  was  he  going  to  tell  about  it? 

"What  pig,  sir?     Why,  THE  pig,  sir." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  Higgins,"  I  said  coldly. 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir,  but  Miss  Alida  asked  me  to 
tell  you,  that  the  pig " 

"WHAT  PIG?"  I  repeated  exasperated. 

"  Why — why — OURS,  sir." 

I  turned  to  stare  at  him.     "  MY  pig  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes,  sir — he's  gone,  sir " 

"  Gone !  "  I  thundered. 
8 


Two  Gentlemen  from  Long  Island 

"  Stolen,  sir,  out  o'  the  pen  last  night." 

Stunned,  I  could  only  stare  at  Higgins.  Stolen? 
MY  pig?  Last  night? 

"  Some  one,"  said  Higgins,  "  went  and  opened 
that  lovely  fancy  sty,  sir ;  and  the  pig  he  bolted.  It 
takes  a  handy  thief  to  stop  and  steal  a  pig,  sir. 
There  must  ha'  been  two  on  'em  to  catch  that  pig !  " 

"  Where's  that  miserable  ruffian  I  hired  to  watch 
the  sty  ?  "  I  demanded  hotly. 

"  He  has  gone  back  to  work  for  Mr.  Van  Dieman, 
sir.  His  hands  was  all  over  black  paint,  and  I  see 
him  a-wipin'  of  'em  onto  your  white  picket  fence." 

The  calmness  of  despair  came  over  me.  I  saw  it, 
now.  I  had  been  called  out  of  bed  to  help  catch  my 
own  pig.  For  nearly  half  an  hour  I  had  dodged 
about  there  in  front  of  my  own  house,  too  stupid  to 
suspect,  too  stupid  even  to  recognize  my  own  pig  in 
the  disguised  and  capricious  porker  shying  and  cara- 
colling  about  in  the  moonlight.  Good  heavens  !  Van 
Dieman  was  right.  A  man  who  helps  to  steal  his 
own  pig  is  fit  for  nothing  but  Paris  or  a  sanitarium. 

"  Shave  me  speedily,  Higgins,"  I  said.  "  I  am 
not  very  well,  and  it  is  difficult  for  me  to  preserve 
sufficient  composure  to  sit  still.  And,  Higgins,  it  is 
not  at  all  necessary  for  you  to  refer  to  that  pig 
hereafter.  You  understand?  Very  well.  Go  to  the 
telephone  and  call  up  the  Cunard  office." 

9 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

Presently  I  was  in  communication  with  Bowling 
Green. 

That  morning  in  the  breakfast-room,  when  I  had 
kissed  mj  daughter  Alida,  aged  eighteen,  and  my 
daughter  Dulcima,  aged  nineteen,  the  younger  said: 
"  Papa,  do  you  know  that  our  pig  has  been  stolen  ?  " 

"  Alida,"  I  replied,  "  I  myself  disposed  of  him  "— 
which  was  the  dreadful  truth. 

"You  sold  him?"  asked  Dulcima  in  surprise. 

"  N — not  exactly.  These  grape-fruit  are  too 
sour ! " 

"  You  gave  him  away  ?  "  inquired  Alida. 

"  Yes — after  a  fashion.  Is  this  the  same  coffee 
we  have  been  using?  It  has  a  peculiar " 

"  Who  did  you  give  him  to  ? "  persisted  my 
younger  child. 

"  A— man." 

"Whatman?" 

"  Nobody  you  know,  child." 

"  But " 

"  Stop !  "  said  I  firmly.  "  It  is  a  subject  too  com 
plicated  to  discuss." 

"  Oh,  pooh !  "  said  Dulcima ;  "  everybody  discusses 
everything  in  Oyster  Bay.  And  besides  I  want  to 
know " 

"  About  the  pig !  "  broke  in  Alida. 

"  And  that  man  to  whom  you  gave  the  pig -" 

10 


Two  Gentlemen  from  Long  Island 

"  Alida,"  said  I,  with  misleading  mildness,  "  how 
would  you  like  to  go  to  Paris?  " 

"Oh!  papa " 

"  And  you,  Dulcima?  " 

"  Darling  papa  !  " 

"When?"  cried  Alida. 

"  Wednesday,"  I  replied  with  false  urbanity. 

"  Oh !  The  darling !  "  they  cried  in  rapture,  and 
made  toward  me. 

"  Wait !  "  I  said  with  a  hideous  smile.  "  We  have 
not  yet  left  Sandy  Hook!  And  I  solemnly  promise 
you  both  that  if  either  of  you  ever  again  ask  me  one 
question  concerning  that  pig — nay,  if  you  so  much 
as  look  askance  at  me  over  the  breakfast  bacon — 
neither  you  nor  I  will  ever  leave  Sandy  Hook  alive !  " 

They  have  kept  their  promises — or  I  should  never 
have  trodden  the  deck  of  the  S.  S.  Cambodia,  the  pride 
of  the  great  Cunard  Line,  with  my  daughter  Dulcima 
on  one  side  and  my  daughter  Alida  on  the  other  side 
of  me,  and  my  old  friend  Van  Dieman  waving  me 
adieu  from  a  crowded  pier,  where  hundreds  of  hand 
kerchiefs  flutter  in  the  breeze. 

"  Au  revoir  et  bon  voyage!  "  he  called  up  to  me. 

"  Toujours  la  politesse"  I  muttered,  nodding 
sagely. 

"  That  was  a  funny  reply  to  make,  papa,"  said 
Dulcima. 

11 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  Not  at  all,"  I  replied,  with  animation ;  "  to  know 
a  language  is  to  know  when  to  use  its  idioms." 
They  both  looked  a  little  blank,  but  continued  to 
wave  their  handkerchiefs. 

"  A  bien-tot!  "  called  Alida  softly,  as  the  towering 
black  sides  of  the  steamer  slipped  along  the  wooden 
wharf. 

Van  Dieman  raised  his  hat  on  the  pier  below,  and 
answered:  "  A  bien-tot?  C'est  la  mort,  jusqu'a  bien- 
tot!  Done,  vive  la  vie,  Mademoiselle!  " 

"  There  is  no  necessity  in  chattering  like  a  French 
man  when  you  talk  French,"  I  observed  to  Alida. 
"  Could  you  make  out  what  Van  Dieman  said 
to  you?" 

"  Y — yes,"  she  admitted,  with  a  slight  blush. 

I  glanced  at  Dulcima.  There  was  a  mischievous 
light  in  her  blue  eyes. 

"  Pooh !  "  I  thought ;  "  Van  Dieman  is  forty  if  he's 
a  day." 

While  the  ship  slid  on  past  Castle  William  and 
poked  her  nose  toward  the  forts  at  the  Narrows,  I 
watched  the  distant  pier  which  we  had  left.  It  was 
still  black  with  people,  moving  like  ants.  And,  as  I 
looked,  I  muttered  ever :  "  Pooh !  Van  Dieman's  forty. 
There's  nothing  in  it,  nothing  in  it,  nothing  what 
ever." 

Off  Fort  Hamilton  I  noticed  that  Alida  had  a  tear 


Two  Gentlemen  from  Long  Island 

in  one  of  her  brown  eyes.  "  There's  nothing  in  it," 
I  repeated  obstinately. 

Off  Sandy  Hook  we  ran  into  a  sea-storm.  In  a 
few  minutes  many  of  the  passengers  went  below ;  in  a 
few  more  minutes  the  remainder  of  the  passengers 
went  below ;  and  I  was  on  the  way  below  with  my 
daughter  Alida  on  one  arm  and  my  daughter  Dul- 
cima  on  the  other. 

"  There  is  nothing  in  it,"  I  reflected,  as  the  ship 
shuddered,  pitched,  and  we  involuntarily  began  run 
ning  down  a  toboggan  slide,  taking  little  timorous 
steps.  Then  the  deck  flew  up  and  caught  the  soles 
of  our  shoes  before  we  were  ready  to  put  our  feet 
down.  "  Alida,"  I  said,  "  do  you  feel  bored?  " 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  tears  in  her  eyes  now. 
"  There's  nothing  in  it.  There's  nothing  in  any 
thing,"  I  muttered  faintly.  And  I  was  right  as  far 
as  it  concerned  the  passengers  on  the  pitching  Cam 
bodia. 


CHAPTER    II 

A     CHAPTER     DEPICTING     A     RATHER     GARRULOUS     RE 
UNION 

THE  second  day  we  ran  out  of  the  storm.     I  re 
member   on   that   day   that  I  wore  a    rather 
doggy  suit  of  gray — a  trifle  too  doggy  for 
a  man  of  my  years.     In  my  button-hole  reposed  a 
white  carnation,  and  as  I  strolled  into  the  smoking- 
room  I  was  humming  under  my  breath  an  air  from 
"  Miss   Helyet  " — a  thing  I  had  not  thought  of  in 
twenty  years. 

"  Well,   upon   my  word ! "   exclaimed   a   man  who 
looked  up  from  his  novel  as  I  entered  the  doorway. 


A  Rather  Garrulous  Reunion 

"  Gad  !     You  haven't  changed  in  twenty  years  ! — ex 
cept  that  your  moustache  is " 

"  Sure  !  And  my  temples,  Williams  !  Besides,  I 
have  two  grown-up  daughters  aboard!  How  are 
you,  anyway,  you  Latin  Quarter  come-back?  " 

We  settled  ourselves,  hands  still  warmly  clasped. 

"  You're  not  going  back  to  Paris  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Why,  man,  I  live  there." 

"  By  George,  so  you  do !     I  forgot." 

There  was  a  silence — that  smiling,  retrospective 
silence  which  ends  inevitably  in  a  sigh  not  entirely 
painful. 

"  Are  any  of  the  old  men  left  there?  "  I  asked. 

"  Some." 

"  I — I  suppose  the  city  has  changed  a  lot.  Men 
who've  been  over  since,  say  so." 

"  It  hasn't  changed,  radically." 

"Hasn't  it,  Williams?"  I  asked  wistfully. 

"  No.  The  old  cafe  is  exactly  the  same.  The 
Luxembourg  Quarter  will  seem  familiar  to  you " 

"  I'm  not  going  there,"  I  said  hastily. 

He  smiled ;  I  could  see  him  doing  it,  askance.  But 
my  features  remained  dignified  and  my  attitude  de 
tached. 

"  I  wonder,"  I  began  carelessly,  "  whether " 

"  She  got  married,"  he  said  casually ;  "  I'm  glad. 
She  was  a  sweet  little  thing." 

15 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  She  was  exceedingly  charming,"  I  said,  select 
ing  a  cigar.  "  And  the  other?  " 

"Which?" 

"  I  forget  her  name." 

"  Oh,  you  mean  Delancy's?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  don't  know  whatever  became  of  her,"  he  said. 

"  Whatever  became  of  Delancy  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  did  what  we  all  usually  do — he  came  back, 
married,  and  spent  the  better  part  of  his  life  in  try 
ing  to  keep  his  daughter  from  marrying  that  young 
Harroll." 

"Sir  Peter's  son?" 

"  Yes.  I  was  a  guest  at  the  Delancy's  at  the  time, 
and  I  nearly  died.  Harroll  confided  in  me,  Cath 
arine  Delancy  confided  in  me,  John  Delancy  told  me 
his  woes.  It's  an  amusing  story.  Do  you  want  to 
hear  it?" 

"  Go  ahead,"  I  said.  "  My  sympathies  are  already 
with  Delancy.  I've  a  pair  of  daughters  myself,  and 
I'm  trying  to  shoo  away  every  sort  of  man  and  keep 
'em  for  myself  a  little  longer." 

Williams  smiled: 

"  Well,  you  listen  to  what  those  two  did  to  John 
Delancy.  It  was  some." 

I  lit  my  cigar ;  he  lit  his ;  and  I  settled  back,  look 
ing  at  him  attentively  as  he  began  with  a  wave  of 

16 


A  Rather  Garrulous  Reunion 

his  gloved  hand,  a  story  of  peculiar  interest  to  a  man 
with  two  unusually  attractive  daughters: 

Now,  although  Harroll  had  been  refused  a  dozen 
times — not  by  Miss  Delancy,  but  by  her  father — the 
young  man's  naturally  optimistic  spirits  suffered 
only  temporary  depression ;  and  a  few  evenings  later 
he  asked  for  her  again,  making  it  a  bakers'  dozen — 
an  uncanny  record. 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Delancy. 

"  Won't  you  let  me  have  her  when  I  become  tenth 
vice-president  of  the  Half-Moon  Title  Guarantee  and 
Trust " 

"  No,  I  won't." 

"  When  will  you  let  me  try  for  her  ?  " 

There  was  no  reply. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  the  young  man  cheerfully,  "  there 
must  be  some  way,  of  course." 

"  Really,  Jim,  I  don't  see  what  way,"  said  Mr. 
Delancy,  without  emotion.  "  I  don't  want  you  for 
a  son-in-law,  and  I'm  not  going  to  have  you.  That's 
one  of  the  reasons  I  allow  you  the  run  of  the  house. 
My  daughter  sees  too  much  of  you  to  care  for 
you.  It's  a  theory  of  my  own,  and  a  good  one, 
too." 

"  Why    don't   you   want   me    for    a    son-in-law  ? " 
asked  the  young  man,  for  the  hundredth  time. 
3  17 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 


"  Can  you  give  me  one  single  reason  why  I  should 
want  you?  "  asked  Mr.  Delancy  wearily. 

Harroll  stood  buried  in  meditation  for  a  few  mo 
ments.  "  No,"  he  said,  "  I  can't  recall  any  impor 
tant  reasons  at  the  moment." 

"  I  can  supply  you  with  one — your  sense  of 
honor — but  it  doesn't  count  in  this  case,  because  you 
wouldn't  be  in  my  house  if  you  didn't  have  any." 

Harroll  looked  at  the  fire. 

"  I've  told  you  a  hundred  times  that  when  my  little 
girl  marries,  she  marries  one  of  her  own  kind.  I 
don't  like  Englishmen.  And  that  is  all  there  is  to  it, 
Jim." 

"Don't  you  like  me?" 

"  I'm  not  infatuated  with  you." 

"  Well,"  said  Harroll,  slowly  pacing  the  rug  in 
front  of  the  fire,  "  it's  curious,  isn't  it  ? — but,  do  you 
know,  I  think  that  I  am  going  to  marry  Catharine 
one  of  these  days  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  think  not,"  replied  Mr.  Delancy  amiably. 
"  And  perhaps  this  is  a  good  opportunity  to  say 
good-by  for  a  while.  You  know  we  go  to  Palm  Beach 
to-morrow  ?  " 

"  Catharine  told  me,"  said  the  young  man,  plac 
idly.  "  So  I've  wired  for  quarters  at  The  Breakers 
— for  two  weeks." 

The  two  men  smiled  at  one  another. 
18 


A  Rather  Garrulous  Reunion 

"  You  take  your  vacation  late,"  said  Mr.  De- 
lancy. 

"  Not  too  late,  I  trust." 

"  You  think  you  can  afford  Palm  Beach,  Jim  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  I'm  going." 

Mr.  Delancy  rose  and  stood  thoughtfully  twirl 
ing  his  monocle  by  the  string.  Then  he  threw  away 
his  cigar,  concealed  a  yawn,  and  glanced  gravely  at 
the  clock  on  the  mantel. 

"  May  I  go  in  and  say  good-night  to  Catharine,, 
sir?  "  asked  young  Harroll. 

Mr.  Delancy  looked  bored,  but  nodded  civilly 
enough. 

"  And,  Jim,"  he  drawled,  as  the  young  man  started 
toward  the  drawing-room,  "  I  wouldn't  go  to  Palm 
Beach  if  I  were  you." 

"  Yes,  you  would,  sir — if  you  were  I." 

"  Young  man,"  said  Mr.  Delancy,  mildly,  "  I'm 
damned  if  I  have  you  for  a  son-in-law  !  Good-night." 

They  shook  hands.  Harroll  walked  into  the  draw 
ing-room  and  found  it  empty.  The  music-room, 
however,  was  lighted,  and  Catharine  Delancy  sat 
tucked  up  in  a  deep  window-seat,  studying  a  map 
of  southern  Florida  and  feeding  bonbons  to  an  enor 
mous  white  Persian  cat. 

"  Jim,"  she  said,  raising  her  dark  eyes  as  he  saun 
tered  up,  "  you  and  father  have  lately  fallen  into  the 

19 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

disreputable  habit  of  sitting  behind  closed  doors  and 
gossiping.  You  have  done  it  thirteen  times  in  three 
months.  Don't  be  such  pigs ;  scandal,  like  other 
pleasures,  was  meant  to  be  shared." 

At  a  gesture  of  invitation  he  seated  himself  beside 
her  and  lifted  the  Persian  pussy  to  his  lap. 

"  Well,"  she  inquired,  "  are  you  really  going  with 
us?" 

"  I  can't  go  when  you  do,  but  I'm  going  to  The 
Breakers  for  a  week  or  two — solely  to  keep  an  eye 
on  your  behavior." 

"  That  is  jolly!  "  she  said,  flushing  with  pleasure. 
"  Was  father  pleased  when  you  told  him?  " 

"  He  didn't  say  he  was  pleased." 

"  He  is  always  reticent,"  she  said,  quickly.  "  But 
won't  it  be  too  jolly  for  words!  We'll  travel  miles 
and  miles  together  in  bicycle-chairs,  and  we'll  yacht 
and  bathe  and  ride  and  golf,  and  catch  amber-jack 
and  sharks,  and — you'll  persuade  father  to  let  me 
gamble  just  once  at  the  club — won't  you?  " 

"  Not  much !  Where  did  you  hear  that  sort  of 
talk,  Catharine?" 

"Don't  tweak  Omar's  tail  and  I'll  tell  you — 
there!  you've  done  it  again,  and  I  won't  tell  you." 

He  fell  to  stroking  the  cat's  fur,  gazing  the  while 
into  space  with  an  absent  eye  that  piqued  her  curi 
osity.  For  a  year  now  he  had  acquired  that  trick  of 

20 


A  Rather  Garrulous  Reunion 

suddenly  detaching  himself  from  earth  and  gazing 
speculatively  toward  heaven,  lost  in  a  revery  far 
from  flattering  to  the  ignored  onlooker.  And  now 
he  was  doing  it  again  under  her  very  nose.  What 
was  he  thinking  about?  He  seemed,  all  at  once,  a 
thousand  miles  removed  from  her.  Where  were  his 
thoughts  ? 

Touched  in  her  amour  propre,  she  quietly  resumed 
the  map  of  southern  Florida ;  but  even  the  rustle  of 
the  paper  did  not  disturb  his  self-centred  and  pro 
voking  meditation. 

She  looked  at  him,  looked  at  the  map,  considered 
him  again,  and  finally  watched  him. 

Suddenly,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  she  thought 
him  dangerously  attractive.  Surprised  and  inter 
ested,  she  regarded  him  in  this  new  light,  imperson 
ally  for  the  moment.  So  far  away  had  he  apparently 
drifted  in  his  meditation  that  it  seemed  to  her  as 
though  she  were  observing  a  stranger — a  most  in 
teresting  and  most  unusual  young  man. 

He  turned  and  looked  her  straight  in  the  eyes. 

Twenty-two,  and  her  first  season  half  over,  and 
to  be  caught  blushing  like  a  school-girl ! 

There  was  no  constraint ;  her  self-possession  cooled 
her  cheeks — and  he  was  not  looking  at  her,  after  all : 
he  was  looking  through  her,  at  something  his  fancy 
focused  far,  far  beyond  her. 

21 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

Never  had  she  thought  any  man  half  as  attractive 
as  this  old  friend  in  a  new  light — this  handsome, 
well-built,  careless  young  fellow  absorbed  in  thoughts 
which  excluded  her.  No  doubt  he  was  so  habituated 
to  herself  in  all  her  moods  that  nothing  except  the 
friendliest  indifference  could  ever 

To  her  consternation  another  tint  of  warm  color 
slowly  spread  over  neck  and  cheek.  He  rose  at  the 
same  moment,  dropped  the  cat  back  among  the 
cushions,  and  smiling  down  at  her,  held  out  his 
hand.  She  took  it,  met  his  eyes  with  an  effort ;  but 
what  message  she  divined  in  them  Heaven  alone 
knows,  for  all  at  once  her  heart  stood  still  and 
a  strange  thrill  left  her  fingers  nerveless  in  his 
hand. 

He  was  saying  slowly,  "  Then  I  shall  see  you  at 
Palm  Beach  next  week?  " 

"Yes.  .  .   .  You  will  come,  won't  you?" 

"  Yes,  I  will  come." 

"  But  if  you — change  your  mind?  " 

"  I  never  change.     May  I  write  you?  " 

"  Good-night.  .  .  .  You  may  write  me  if  you 
wish." 

"  I  will  write,  every  day — if  you  don't  mind." 

"  No — I  don't  mind,"  she  said  thoughtfully. 

She  withdrew  her  hand  and  stood  perfectly  still 
.as  he  left  the  room.  She  heard  a  servant  open  the 


A  Rather  Garrulous  Reunion 

door,   she   heard   Harroll's   quick  step   echo   on   the 
stoop,  then  the  door  closed. 

A  second  later  Mr.  Delancy  in  the  library  was 
aroused  from  complacent  meditation  by  the  swish  of 
a  silken  skirt,  and  glancing  up,  beheld  a  tall,  prettily 
formed  girl  looking  at  him  with  a  sober  and  rather 
colorless  face. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  "  I'm  in  love  with  Jim  Har- 
roll!" 

Mr.  Delancy  groped  for  his  monocle,  screwed  it 
into  his  left  eye,  and  examined  his  daughter. 

"  It's  true,  and  I  thought  I'd  better  tell  you,"  she 
said. 

"  Yes,"  he  agreed,  "  it's  as  well  to  let  me  know, 
Ah — er — when  and  how  cftd  it  occur?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  father.  I  was  feeding  Omar  bon 
bons  and  looking  over  the  map  of  South  Florida,  and 
thinking  about  nothing  in  particular,  when  Jim  came 
in.  He  said  he  was  going  to  Palm  Beach,  and  I  said, 
'  How  jolly!  '  and  he  sat  down  and  picked  up  Omar, 
and — I  don't  know  how  it  was,  but  I  began  to  think 
him  very  attractive,  and  the  first  thing  I  knew — it 
— happened !  " 

"  Oh!     So  that's  the  way  it  happened?  " 

"  I  think  it  was,  father." 

"  No  doubt  you'll  outgrow  it." 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

23 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  I  haven't  a  doubt  of  it,  little  daughter." 

"  I  have." 

Mr.  Delancy  dropped  his  monocle  and  looked  at 
the  fire.  The  fire  was  all  right. 

"  Do  you — do  you  suppose  that  Jim  is — does — 
thinks — knows " 

"  I  never  speculate  on  what  Jim  is,  does,  thinks, 
or  knows,"  said  her  father,  thoughtfully,  stirring  the 
embers  and  spoiling  a  perfectly  good  fire.  When 
he  looked  up  again  she  had  gone. 

"  One  theory  smashed !  "  observed  Mr.  Delancy. 
"  I'll  try  another,  with  separation  as  the  main  in 
gredient." 

He  sat  down  before  the  fire  and  lighted  a  fresh 
cigar,  which  wasn't  good  for  him. 

"  Must  avoid  making  a  martyr  of  Jim  or  there 
will  be  trouble,"  he  mused.  "  There  remains  another 
way — make  a  martyr  of  myself." 

He  sat  swinging  his  monocle  around  his  forefinger, 
gazing  vacantly  at  the  pattern  the  shadows  cast 
across  the  hearth. 

"Avalon!"  he  said,  abruptly.  "Avalon!  The 
*  back-to-nature  '  business,  '  grass-cure  '  and  all.  It 
can't  harm  either  Catharine  or  me,  I  fancy — or  any 
other  pair  of  donkeys !  " 


CHAPTER    III 

TROUBLE    FOR    TWO 

A  Note  Found  by  Young  Harroll  on  his  Dresser  the 
Evening  of  his  Arrival  at  Palm  Beach. 

"  11.30  A.M. 

DEAR  JIM — Everything  is  spoiled,  after  all! 
Father's  failing  health  has  suddenly  become 
a  serious  matter,  and  we  are  going  to  try 
the  '  nature  cure,'  or  whatever  they  call  it,  at  Ava- 
lon  Island.     I  had  no  idea  he  was  really  ill.     Evi 
dently  he   is   alarmed,   for  we  have  only  been   here 
six  days,  and  in  a  few  minutes  we  are  to  start  for 
Avalon.     Isn't  it  perfectly  horrid?     And  to   think 

25 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

that  you  are  coming  this  evening  and  expecting  to 
find  us  here! 

"  Father  says  you  can't  come  to  Avalon ;  that 
only  invalids  are  received  (I  didn't  know  I  was  one, 
but  it  seems  I'm  to  take  the  treatment,  too !),  and  he 
says  that  nobody  is  received  for  less  than  a  month's 
treatment,  so  I  suppose  that  bars  you  even  if  you 
were  self-sacrificing  enough  to  endure  a  '  nature 
cure  '  for  the  pleasure  of  spending  two  weeks  with 
[me,  crossed  out]  us. 

"  I'm  actually  on  the  verge  of  tears  when  I  think 
of  all  we  had  planned  to  do  together !  And  there's 
my  maid  at  the  door,  knocking.  Good-by.  You  will 
write,  won't  you? 

"  CATHARINE  DELANCY." 

Mr.    James    Harroll    to    Miss    Catharine    Delancy, 
Avalon,  Balboa  County,  Florida. 

"  HOLY  CROSS  LIGHT,  FEBRUARY  15. 
"  DEAR  CATHARINE — Your  father  was  right :  they 
refuse  to  take  me  at  Avalon.  As  soon  as  I  found 
your  note  I  telegraphed  to  Avalon  for  accommoda 
tions.  It  seems  Avalon  is  an  island,  and  they  have 
to  wait  for  the  steamers  to  carry  telegrams  over 
from  the  mainland.  So  the  reply  has  just  reached 
me  that  they  won't  take  me  for  less  than  a  month; 

26 


Trouble  for  Two 


and  my  limit  from  business  is  two  weeks  or  give  up 
my  position  with  your  father. 

"  Yesterday  I  came  out  here  to  Holy  Cross  Spring 
to  shoot  ducks.  I'd  scarcely  begun  shooting,  at 
dawn,  when  along  came  a  couple  of  men  through  the 
fog,  rowing  like  the  mischief  plump  into  my  decoys, 
and  I  shouted  out,  '  What  the  deuce  are  you  about  ?  ' 
and  they  begged  my  pardon,  and  said  they  had 
thought  the  point  unoccupied,  and  that  the  fog  was 
thicker  than  several  things — which  was  true. 

"  So  I  invited  them  into  the  blind  to — oh,  the 
usual  ceremony — and  they  came,  and  they  turned 
out  to  be  Jack  Selden — the  chap  I  told  you  about 
who  was  so  decent  to  me  in  Paris — and  his  guide. 

"  So  we  had — ceremonies — several  of  them — and 
Selden  stayed  to  shoot  with  me  over  my  decoys,  and 
our  bag  was  fifty-three,  all  big  duck  except  fifteen 
bluebills. 

"  Selden  is  a  godsend  to  me.  We're  going  to  stay 
out  here  to-night  at  the  lighthouse,  and  shoot  all  to 
morrow  if  it  doesn't  blow  too  hard.  It's  blowing 
great  guns  now.  I'm  here  in  the  lighthouse,  writing 
in  the  glow  of  a  lamp  in  the  keeper's  living-room, 
with  his  good  little  wife  sewing  by  the  fire  and  a 
half-dozen  of  his  kids  tumbling  about  on  the  floor. 
It's  a  pretty  sight;  I  love  children  and  firesides  and 
that  sort  of  thing.  They've  got  hold  of  Selden  now, 

27 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

and  are  making  him  tell  stories  of  adventure.  He's 
been  all  over  the  world,  and  is  perfectly  crazy  to  get 
married.  Says  he  would  prefer  a  widow  with  yellow 
hair  and  blue  eyes.  Do  you  know  any?  He's  a  nice 
chap." 

"  Catharine,  I  wish  I  were  in  Avalon.  They  could 
put  me  in  a  strait- j  acket  and  I  wouldn't  care  as  long 
as  [you  were,  crossed  out]  I  could  be  with  [you, 
crossed  out]  your  father  and  you  in  Avalon. 

"  It's  growing  late,  and  Selden  and  I  should  be  on 
the  ducking-grounds  to-morrow  before  dawn.  The 
keeper's  wife  says  it  will  blow  too  hard,  but  Selden 
only  smiles.  He's  a  cool  one,  and  if  he  has  the  nerve 
to  go  out  I'll  go,  too. 

"  With  sincere  regards  to  your  father  and  every 
wish  for  his  speedy  recovery,  I  remain 
"  Yours  faithfully, 

"  JAMES  HARROLI,." 

Lines  Scribbled  on  the  Leaf  of  a  Note-book  and 
Found  in  a  Bottle  in  the  Pocket  of  an  old  Shoot 
ing-coat  a  Year  Later. 

"  ATLANTIC  OCEAN, 
"  MILES  SOUTH  OF  HOLY  CROSS  LIGHT, 

"  FEBRUARY  16. 

"  CATHARINE — I  think  this  is  the  end.  Selden  and 
I  have  been  blown  out  to  sea  in  a  rowboat,  and  it's 

28 


Trouble  for  Two 


leaking.  I  only  want  to  say  good-by.  Telegraph 
Selden's  mother,  Lenox,  Massachusetts.  I  have  no 
body  to  notify.  Good-by. 

"  JAMES  HARROLL." 

Telegram  to  James  Harroll,  Received  and  Opened  by 
the  Keeper  while  Search-boats  Were  still  Out  after 
Mr.  Harroll  and  Mr.  Selden,  Two  Days  Missing. 

"  JAMES   HARROLL,   HOLY    CROSS   LIGHT,    FLORIDA, 

EAST  COAST: 

"  Don't  run  any  risks.  Be  careful  for  our  sakes. 
Terrible  storm  on  the  coast  reported  here.  Wire 
me  that  you  are  safe. 

"  CATHARINE  DELANCY, 

"  Avalon,  Florida." 

Telegrams  Addressed  to  Young  Harroll,  and  Opened 
by  the  Keeper  of  the  Lighthouse  after  the  Search- 
boats  Had  Returned. 

No.   1. 

"  Why  don't  you  telegraph  us  ?  Your  silence  and 
the  reports  of  the  storm  alarm  us.  Reply  at  once. 

"  CATHARINE." 

No.  2. 

"  Wire  Catharine,  Jim.  You  surely  were  not  ass 
enough  to  go  out  in  such  a  storm. 

"  S.  DELANCY." 
29 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

No.  3. 

"  For  pity's  sake  telegraph  to  me  that  you  are 
safe.  I  cannot  sleep. 

"  CATHARINE." 

Telegram     to     Miss     Catharine    Delancy,     Avalon, 
Florida. 

"  HOLY  CROSS  LIGHT. 
"  Miss  CATHARINE  DEL.ANCY  : 

"  Rowboat  containing  Mr.  Harroll  and  Mr.  Selden 
blown  out  to  sea.  Search-boats  returned  without 
finding  any  trace  of  them. 

"  CASWELL,  Keeper." 

Telegram  from  Mr.  Delancy  to  Keeper  of  Holy  Cross 
Light. 

"  CASWELL  : 

"  Charter  a  fast  ocean-going  tug  and  as  many 
launches  as  necessary.  Don't  give  up  the  search. 
Spare  no  expense.  Check  mailed  to  you  to-day. 

"  I  will  give  ten  thousand  dollars  to  the  man  who 
rescues  James  Harroll.  You  may  draw  on  me  for 
any  amount  necessary.  Keep  me  constantly  in 
formed  of  your  progress  by  wire. 

"  STEPHEN  DELANCY." 

30 


Trouble  for  Two 


In  from  the  open  sea  drifted  the  castaways, 
the  sun  rising  in  tropic  splendor  behind  them, 
before  them  a  far  strip  of  snowy  surf  edging  green 
shores. 

Selden  sat  in  the  bow,  bailing ;  Harroll  dug  vigor 
ously  into  the  Atlantic  with  both  oars ;  a  heavy  flood- 
tide  was  doing  the  rest.  Presently  Selden  picked  up 
the  ducking-glass  and  examined  the  shore. 

Harroll  rested  on  his  oars,  took  a  pull  at  the  min 
eral  water,  and  sighed  deeply.  "  Except  for  the 
scare  and  the  confounded  leak  it's  been  rather  amus 
ing,  hasn't  it?  "  he  said. 

"  It's  all  right.  .  .  .  Hope  you  didn't  set  that 
farewell  message  afloat." 

"What  message?" 

"  Oh — I  thought  I  saw  you  scribbling  in  your  note 
book  and " 

"And  what?" 

"  And  stick  the  leaf  into  the  bottle  of  gun-oil.  If 
I  was  mistaken,  kindly  give  me  my  bottle  of  gun- 
oil." 

"  Pooh !  "  said  Harroll.  "  The  storm  was  magnifi 
cent.  Can't  a  man  jot  down  impressions?  Open  a 
can  of  sardines,  will  you?  And  pass  me  the  bread, 
you  idiot !  " 

Selden  constructed  a  sandwich  and  passed  it  aft. 
"  When  we  near  those  ducks,"  he  said,  "  we'd  better 

31 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

give    them   a  broadside — our   larder's    getting   low. 
I'll  load  for  us  both." 

He  fished  about  among  the  cartridge-sacks  for 
some  dry  shells,  loaded  the  guns,  and  laid  them  ready. 

"  Bluebills,"  observed  Harroll,  as  the  boat  drew 
near.  "  How  tame  they  are !  Look,  Selden !  It 
would  be  murder  to  shoot." 

The  boat,  drifting  rapidly,  passed  in  among  the 
raft  of  ducks ;  here  and  there  a  glistening  silver- 
breasted  bird  paddled  lazily  out  of  the  way,  but  the 
bulk  of  the  flock  floated  serenely  on  either  side,  riding 
the  swell,  bright  golden  eyes  fearlessly  observing  the 
intruders. 

"  Oh,  a  man  can't  shoot  at  things  that  act 
like  that!"  exclaimed  Selden  petulantly.  "Shoo! 
Shoo — o !  "  he  cried,  waving  his  gun  in  hopes  that 
a  scurry  and  rise  might  justify  assassination.  But 
the  birds  only  watched  him  in  perfect  confidence. 
The  boat  drove  on ;  the  young  men  sat  staring  across 
the  waves,  guns  idly  balanced  across  their  knees. 
Presently  Harroll  finished  his  sandwich  and  resumed 
the  oars. 

"Better  bail  some  more,"  he  said.  "What  are 
you  looking  at  ?  " — for  Selden,  using  the  ducking- 
glass,  had  begun  to  chuckle. 

"  Well,  upon  my  word !  "  he  said  slowly — "  of  all 
luck!  Where  do  you  suppose  we  are?  " 

32 


Trouble  for  Two 


"  Well,  where  the  devil  are  we?  " 

"Off  Avalon!" 

"  Avalon !  "  repeated  Harroll,  stupidly.  "  Why, 
man,  it's  a  hundred  miles  south  of  Holy  Cross !  " 

"  Well,  we've  made  it,  I  tell  you.  I  can  see  one 
of  their  dinky  little  temples  shining  among  the  trees. 
Hark !  There  go  the  bells  ringing  for  meditation !  " 

A  mellow  chime  came  across  the  water. 

"  It  can't  be  Avalon,"  repeated  Harroll,  not  dar 
ing  to  hope  for  such  fortune.  "  What  do  you  know 
about  Avalon,  anyway?  " 

"  What  I've  heard." 

"What's  that?" 

"  Why,  it's  a  resort  for  played-out  people  who've 
gone  the  pace.  When  a  girl  dances  herself  into  the 
fidgets,  or  a  Newport  matron  goes  to  pieces,  or  a 
Wall  Street  man  begins  to  talk  to  himself,  hither 
they  toddle.  It's  the  fashionable  round-up  for 
smashed  nerves  and  wibbly-wobbly  intellects — a  sort 
of  "  back-to-nature  "  enterprise  run  by  a  "  doctor." 
He  makes  'em  all  wear  garments  cut  in  the  style  of 
the  humble  bed-sheet,  and  then  he  turns  'em  out  to 
grass;  and  they  may  roll  on  it  or  frisk  on  it  or  eat 
it  if  they  like.  Incidentally,  I  believe,  they're  obliged 
to  wallow  in  the  ocean  several  times  a  day,  run  races 
afoot,  chuck  the  classic  discus,  go  barefooted  and 
sandal-shod,  wear  wreaths  of  flowers  instead  of  hats, 

4  sa 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

meditate  in  silence  when  the  temple  bells  ring,  eat 
grain  and  fruit  and  drink  milk,  and  pay  enormous 
bills  to  the  quack  who  runs  the  place.  It  must  be  a 
merry  life,  Harroll.  No  tobacco,  no  billiards,  no 
bridge.  And  hit  the  downy  at  nine-thirty  by  the 
curfew !  " 

"  Good  Lord !  "  muttered  Harroll. 

"  That's  Avalon,"  repeated  Selden.  "  And  we're 
almost  there.  Look  sharp !  Stand  by  for  a  duck 
ing  !  This  surf  means  trouble  ahead !  " 

It  certainly  did;  the  boat  soared  skyward  on  the 
crest  of  the  swell;  a  smashing  roller  hurled  it  into 
the  surf,  smothering  craft  and  crew  in  hissing  foam. 
A  second  later  two  heads  appeared,  and  two  half- 
suffocated  young  men  floundered  up  the  beach  and 
dropped,  dripping  and  speechless,  on  the  sand. 

They  lay  inert  for  a  while,  salt  water  oozing  at 
every  pore.  Harroll  was  the  first  to  sit  up. 

"Right?"  he  inquired. 

"  All  right.     Where's  the  boat?  " 

"  Ashore  below  us."  He  rose,  dripping,  and  made 
off  toward  the  battered  boat,  which  lay  in  the  shoals, 
heeled  over.  Selden  followed ;  together  they  dragged 
the  wreck  up  high  and  dry;  then  they  sat  down  on 
the  sand,  eying  one  another. 

"  It's  a  fine  day,"  said  Selden,  with  a  vacant  grin. 
He  rolled  over  on  his  back,  clutching  handfuls  of 

34 


Trouble  for  Two 


hot  sand.  "Isn't  this  immense?"  he  said.  "My! 
how  nice  and  dry  and  solid  everything  is !  Roll  on 
your  back,  Harroll !  You'll  enjoy  it  more  that  way." 

But  Harroll  got  up  and  began  dragging  the  guns 
and  cartridge-sacks  from  the  boat. 

"  I've  some  friends  here,"  he  said  briefly.  "  Come 
on." 

"  Are  your  friends  hospitably  inclined  to  the  ship 
wrecked  ?  I'm  about  ready  to  be  killed  with  hospital 
ity,"  observed  Selden,  shouldering  gun  and  sack  and 
slopping  along  in  his  wet  boots. 

They  entered  a  thicket  of  sweet-bay  and  palmetto, 
breast-high,  and  forced  a  path  through  toward  a  bit 
of  vivid  green  lawn,  which  gave  underfoot  like  velvet. 

"  There's  a  patient  now — in  his  toga,"  said  Seldenr 
in  a  low  voice.  "  Better  hit  him  with  a  piteous  tale 
of  shipwreck,  hadn't  we?  " 

The  patient  was  seated  on  a  carved  bench  of  mar 
ble  under  the  shade  of  a  live  oak.  His  attitude  sug 
gested  ennui;  he  yawned  at  intervals ;  at  intervals  he 
dug  in  the  turf  with  idle  bare  toes. 

"  The  back  of  that  gentleman's  head,"  said  Har 
roll,  "  resembles  the  back  of  a  head  I  know." 

"Oh!     One  of  those  friends  you  mentioned?" 

"  Well — I  never  saw  him  in  toga  and  sandalsr 
wearing  a  wreath  of  flowers  on  his  head.  Let's  take 
a  front  view." 

35 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

The  squeaky,  sloppy  sound  of  Selden's  hip  boots 
aroused  the  gentleman  in  the  toga  from  his  attitude 
of  bored  meditation. 

"  How  do  you  do,  sir?  "  said  Harroll,  blandly.  "  I 
thought  I'd  come  to  Avalon." 

The  old  gentleman  fumbled  in  his  toga,  found  a 
monocle,  screwed  it  firmly  into  his  eye,  and  inspected 
Harroll  from  head  to  heel. 

"  You're  rather  wet,  Jim,"  he  said,  steadying  his 
voice. 

Harroll  admitted  it.  "  This  is  my  old  friend,  Jack 
Selden — the  Lenox  Seldens,  you  know,  sir."  And, 
to  Selden,  he  reverently  named  Mr.  Delancy. 

"How  do?"  said  Mr.  Delancy.  "You're  wet, 
too." 

There  was  a  silence.  Mr.  Delancy  executed  a  fa 
cial  contortion  which  released  the  monocle.  Then 
he  touched  his  faded  eyes  with  the  hem  of  his  hand 
kerchief.  The  lashes  and  furrowed  cheeks  were  moist. 

"  You're  so  devilish  abrupt,  Jim,"  he  said.  "  Did 
you  get  any  telegrams  from  us?  " 

"Telegrams?     No,  sir.     When?" 

"  No  matter,"  said  Mr.  Delancy. 

Another  silence,  and  Harroll  said :  "  Fact  is,  sir, 
we  were  blown  out  to  sea,  and  that's  how  we  came 
here.  I  fancy  Selden  wouldn't  mind  an  invitation  to 
dinner  and  a  chance  to  dry  his  clothes." 

36 


Trouble  for  Two 


Selden  smiled  hopefully  and  modestly  as  Mr.  De- 
lancy  surveyed  him. 

"  Pray  accept  my  hospitality,  gentlemen,"  said 
Mr.  Delancy,  with  a  grim  smile.  "  I've  been  ass 
enough  to  take  a  villa  in  this  forsaken  place.  The 
food  I  have  to  offer  you  might  be  relished  by  squir 
rels,  perhaps;  the  clothing  resembles  my  own,  and 
can  be  furnished  you  by  the  simple  process  of  remov 
ing  the  sheets  from  your  beds." 

He  rose,  flung  the  flap  of  his  toga  over  one  shoul 
der,  and  passed  his  'arm  through  Harroll's. 

"  Don't  you  like  it  here  ?  "  asked  Harroll. 

"  Like  it !  "  repeated  Mr.  Delancy. 

"  But — why  did  you  come  ?  " 

"  I  came,"  said  Mr.  Delancy  slowly,  "  because  I 
desired  to  be  rid  of  you." 

Selden  instinctively  fell  back  out  of  earshot.  Har 
roll  reddened. 

"  I  thought  your  theory  was " 

"  You  smashed  that  theory — now  you've  shattered 
this — you  and  Catharine  between  you." 

Harroll  looked  thoughtfully  at  Selden,  who  stood 
watching  two  pretty  girls  playing  handball  on  the 
green. 

"  Young  man,"  said  Mr.  Delancy,  "  do  you  realize 
what  I've  been  through  in  one  week?  I  have  been 
obliged  to  wear  this  unspeakable  garment,  I've  been 

37 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

obliged  to  endure  every  species  of  tomfoolery,  I've 
been  fed  on  bird  seed,  deprived  of  cigars,  and  sent 
to  bed  at  half  past  nine.  And  I'm  as  sound  in  limb 
and  body  as  you  are.  And  all  because  I  desired  to  be 
rid  of  you.  I  had  two  theories!  both  are  smashed. 
I  refuse  to  entertain  any  more  theories  concerning 
anything !  " 

Harroll  laughed;  then  his  attention  became  con 
centrated  on  the  exquisite  landscape,  where  amid 
green  foliage  white  villas  of  Georgia  marble  glim 
mered,  buried  in  blossoming  thickets  of  oleander, 
wistaria,  and  Cherokee  roses — where  through  the 
trees  a  placid  lake  lay  reflecting  the  violet  sky 
— where  fallow-deer  wandered,  lipping  young 
maple  buds — where  beneath  a  pergola  heavily 
draped  with  golden  jasmine  a  white-robed  figure 
moved  in  the  shade — a  still,  sunny  world  of  green 
and  gold  and  violet  exhaling  incense  under  a  cloud 
less  sky. 

"  I  would  like  to  see  Catharine,"  he  said,  slowly, 
"  with  your  permission — and  in  view  of  the  fate  of 
the  theories." 

"  Jim,"  said  Mr.  Delancy,  "  you  are  doubtless  un 
conscious  of  the  trouble  you  have  created  in  my 
family." 

"  Trouble,  sir  ?  "  repeated  the  young  man,  flush 
ing  up. 

38 


Trouble  for  Two 


"  Trouble  for  two.  My  daughter  and  I  believed 
you  drowned." 

Harroll  stood  perfectly  still.  Mr.  Delancy  took 
a  step  or  two  forward,  turned,  and  came  back  across 
the  lawn.  "  She  is  sitting  under  that  pergola  yon 
der,  looking  out  to  sea,  and  I'm  afraid  she's  crying 
her  eyes  out  for  something  she  wants.  It's  probably 
not  good  for  her,  either.  But — such  as  it  is — she 
may  have  it." 

The  two  men  looked  at  one  another  steadily. 

"  I'm  rather  glad  you  were  not  drowned,"  said  Mr. 
Delancy,  "  but  I'm  not  infatuated  with  you." 

They  shook  hands  solemnly,  then  Mr.  Delancy 
walked  over  and  joined  Selden,  who  appeared  to  be 
fascinated  by  an  attractive  girl  in  Greek  robes  and 
sandals  who  was  playing  handball  on  the  green. 

"  Young  man^"  said  Mr.  Delancy,  "  there's  always 
trouble  for  two  in  this  world.  That  young  woman 
with  yellow  hair  and  violet  eyes  who  is  playing  hand 
ball  with  her  sister,  and  who  appears  to  hypnotize 
you,  is  here  to  recuperate  from  the  loss  of  an  elderly 
husband." 

"  A  widow  with  yellow  hair  and  blue  eyes !  "  mur 
mured  Selden,  entranced. 

"  Precisely.  Your  train,  however,  leaves  to-night 
— unless  you  mean  to  remain  here  on  a  diet  of  bird 
seed." 

39 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

Selden  smiled  absently.  Bird-seed  had  no  terror 
for  him. 

"  Besides,"  he  said,  "  I'm  rather  good  at  hand 
ball." 

A  moment  later  he  looked  around,  presumably  for 
Harroll.  That  young  man  was  already  half-way  to 
the  jasmine-covered  arbor,  where  a  young  girl  sat, 
dry-eyed,  deathly  pale,  staring  out  to  sea. 

The  sea  was  blue  and  smiling ;  the  soft  thunder  of 
the  surf  came  up  to  her.  She  heard  the  gulls  mewing 
in  the  sky  and  the  hum  of  bees  in  the  wind-stirred 
blossoms ;  she  saw  a  crested  osprey  plunge  into  the 
shallows  and  a  great  tarpon  fling  its  mass  of  silver 
into  the  sun.  Paroquets  gleaming  like  living  jewels 
rustled  and  preened  in  the  china-trees;  black  and 
gold  butterflies,  covered  with  pollen,  crawled  over 
and  over  the  massed  orange  bloom.  Ah,  the  mask 
of  youth  that  the  sly  world  wore  to  mock  her !  Ah, 
the  living  lie  of  the  sky,  and  the  false,  smooth  sea 
fawning  at  her  feet ! 

Little  persuasive  breezes  came  whispering,  pluck 
ing  at  the  white  hem  of  her  robe  to  curry  favor ;  the 
ingratiating  surf  purred,  blinking  with  a  million 
iridescent  bubbles.  The  smug  smile  of  nature  ap 
palled  her ;  its  hypocrisy  sickened  her ;  and  she  bent 
her  dark  eyes  fiercely  on  the  sea  and  clinched  her 
little  hands. 

40 


Give  up  my  dead  ! '    she  whispered.      '  Give  up  my 
dead  !  '" 


Trouble  for  Two 


"  Give  up  my  dead !  "  she  whispered.  "  Give  up 
my  dead !  " 

"  Catharine !  " 

Dazed,  she  rose  to  her  sandalled  feet,  the  white 
folds  of  her  robe  falling  straight  and  slim. 

"  Catharine !  " 

Her  voiceless  lips  repeated  his  name ;  she  swayed, 
steadying  herself  by  the  arm  around  her  waist. 

Then  trouble  for  two  began. 

As  Williams  ended,  I  looked  at  him  with  indig 
nation. 

"  As  far  as  I  can  see,"  I  said,  "  you  are  acting 
as  attorney  for  the  defense.  That's  a  fine  story 
to  tell  a  father  of  two  attractive  daughters.  You 
needn't  repeat  it  to  them." 

"  But  it  happened,  old  man " 

"  Don't  call  me  '  old  man,'  either.  I'll  explain  to 
you  why."  And  I  did,  peevishly. 

After  that  I  saw  less  of  Williams,  from  choice. 
He  has  a  literary  way  with  him  in  telling  a  story — 
and  I  didn't  wish  Alida  and  Dulcima  to  sympathize 
with  young  Harroll  and  that  little  ninny,  Catharine 
Delancy.  So  I  kept  clear  of  Williams  until  we  ar 
rived  in  Paris. 


CHAPTER    IV 

WHEREIN     A     MODEST     MAN     IS     BULLIED     AND     A     LIT 
ERARY     MAN      PRACTICES     STYLE 

WHAT  was  your  first  impression  of  Paris, 
Mr.   Van   Twiller  ?  "   inquired  the   young 
man  from  East  Boston,  as  I  was  lighting 
my  cigar  in  the  corridor  of  the  Hotel  des  Michetons 
after  breakfast. 

"  The  first  thing  I  noticed,"  said  I,  "  was  the  en 
tire  United  States  walking  down  the  Boulevard  des 
Italians." 

"And  your  second  impression,  sir?"  he  asked 
somewhat  uncertainly. 

"  The  entire  United  States  walking  back  again." 
He  lighted  a  cigarette  and  tried  to  appear  cheer 
ful.     He  knew  I  possessed  two  daughters.     A  man  in 
possession  of  such  knowledge  will  endure  much. 
Presently  the  stout  young  man  from  Chicago  came 
42 


A  Modest  Man  is  Bullied 


up  to  request  a  light  for  his  cigar.  "  See  Paris  and 
die,  eh?  "  he  observed  with  odious  affability. 

"  I  doubt  that  the  city  can  be  as  unhealthy  as 
that,"  I  said  coldly. 

Defeated,  he  joined  forces  with  the  young  man 
from  East  Boston,  and  they  retired  to  the  terrace 
to  sit  and  hate  me. 

My  daughter  Alida,  my  daughter  Dulcima,  and  I 
spent  our  first  day  in  Paris  "  ong  voitoor"  as  the 
denizen  of  East  Boston  informed  me  later. 

"  What  is  your  first  impression,  Alida?  "  I  asked, 
as  our  taxi  rolled  smoothly  down  the  Avenue  de 
POpera. 

"Paris?  An  enormous  blossom  carved  out  of 
stone! — a  huge  architectural  Renaissance  rose  with 
white  stone  petals  !  " 

I  looked  at  my  pretty  daughter  with  pride. 

"  That  is  what  Mr.  Van  Dieman  says,"  she  added 
conscientiously. 

My  enthusiasm  cooled  at  once. 

"  Van  Dieman  exaggerates,"  I  said.  "  Dulcima, 
what  do  you  find  to  characterize  Paris  ?  " 

"  The  gowns  !  "  she  cried.  "  Oh,  papa !  did  you 
see  that  girl  driving  past  just  now?  " 

I  opened  my  guidebook  in  silence.     I  had  seen  her. 

The  sunshine  flooded  everything ;  the  scent  of  flow 
ers  filled  the  soft  air;  the  city  was  a  garden,  sweet 

43 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

with  green  leaves,  embroidered  with  green  grass — a 
garden,  too,  in  architecture,  carved  out  in  silvery 
gray  foliage  of  stone.  The  streets  are  as  smooth 
and  clean  as  a  steamer's  deck,  with  little  clear  rivu 
lets  running  in  gutters  that  seem  as  inviting  as  coun 
try  brooks.  It  did  not  resemble  Manhattan. 

Paris ! 

Paris  is  a  big  city  full  of  red-legged  soldiers. 

Paris  is  a  forest  of  pink  and  white  chestnut  blos 
soms  under  which  the  inhabitants  sit  without  their 
hats. 

Paris  is  a  collection  of  vistas ;  at  the  end  of  every 
vista  is  a  misty  masterpiece  of  architecture ;  on  the 
summit  of  every  monument  is  a  masterpiece  of  sculp 
ture. 

Paris  is  a  city  of  several  millions  of  inhabitants, 
every  inhabitant  holding  both  hands  out  to  you  for 
a  tip. 

Paris  is  a  park,  smothered  in  foliage,  under  which 
asphalted  streets  lead  to  Paradise. 

Paris  is  a  sanitarium  so  skillfully  conducted  that 
nobody  can  tell  the  patients  from  the  physicians ;  and 
all  the  inmates  are  firmly  convinced  that  the  outside 
world  is  mad. 

I  looked  back  at  the  gilded  mass  of  the  Opera — 
that  great  pile  of  stone  set  lightly  there  as  the  toe 

of  a  ballet-girl's  satin  slipper 

44 


A  Modest  Man  is  Bullied 


"  What  are  you  thinking,  papa  ?  "  asked  Alida. 

"  Nothing,"  I  said  hastily,  amazed  at  my  own 
frivolity.  "  Notice,"  said  I,  "  the  exquisite  harmony 
of  the  sky-line.  Here  in  Paris  the  Government  regu 
lates  the  height  of  buildings.  Nothing  inharmonious 
can  be  built;  the  selfishness  and  indifference  of  pri 
vate  ownership  which  in  New  York  erects  skyscra 
pers  around  our  loveliest  architectural  remains,  the 
City  Hall,  would  not  be  tolerated  here,  where  artistic 
ensemble  is  as  necessary  to  people  as  the  bread  they 
eat." 

"  Dear  me,  where  have  I  read  that?  "  exclaimed 
Alida  innocently. 

I  said  nothing  more. 

We  were  now  passing  through  that  wing  of  the 
Louvre  which  faces  the  Carousal,  and  we  turned 
sharply  to  the  right  under  the  little  arc,  and  straight 
past  the  Tuileries  Gardens,  all  blooming  with  tulips 
and  hyacinths,  past  the  quaint  weather-stained  stat 
ues  of  an  epoch  as  dead  as  its  own  sculptors,  past 
the  long  arcades  of  the  Rivoli,  under  which  human 
spiders  lurk  for  the  tourist  of  Cook,  and  out  into  the 
Place  de  la  Concorde — the  finest  square  in  the  world. 

The  sun  glittered  on  the  brass  inlaid  base  on  which 
towered  the  monolyth.  The  splashing  of  the  great 
fountains  filled  the  air  with  a  fresh  sweet  sound. 
Round  us,  in  a  vast  circle,  sat  the  "  Cities  of  France," 

45 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

with  "  Strasburg "  smothered  in  crepe  and  funeral 
wreaths,  each  still  stone  figure  crowned  with  battle- 
mented  crowns  and  bearing  the  carved  symbols  of 
their  ancient  power  on  time-indented  escutcheons,  all 
of  stone. 

The  fresh  wet  pavement  blazed  in  the  sunshine ; 
men  wheeled  handcarts  filled  with  violets  or  piled  high 
with  yellow  jonquils  and  silvery  hyacinths. 

Violet,  white,  and  yellow — these  are  the  colors 
which  Paris  wears  in  springtime,  twined  in  her  chap- 
let  of  tender  green. 

I  said  this  aloud  to  Dulcima,  who  replied  that  they 
were  wearing  blue  in  Paris  this  spring,  and  that  she 
would  like  to  know  how  soon  we  were  going  to  the 
dressmakers. 

Now  at  last  we  were  rolling  up  the  Champs  Ely- 
sees,  with  the  Arc  de  Triomphe,  a  bridge  of  pearl  at 
the  end  of  the  finest  vista  in  the  world.  Past  us  gal 
loped  gay  cavalry  officers,  out  for  a  morning  canter 
in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne;  past  us  whizzed  automo 
biles  of  every  hue,  shape  and  species. 

Past  us,  too,  trotted  shoals  of  people  well  diluted 
by  our  fellow  countrymen,  yet  a  truly  Parisian  crowd 
for  all  that.  Hundreds  of  uniforms  dotted  the 
throngs;  cuirassiers  in  short  blue  stable  jackets, 
sabres  hooked  under  their  left  elbows,  little  piou- 
piou  lads,  in  baggy  red  trousers  and  shakos  bound 

46 


A  Modest  Man  is  Bullied 


with  yellow;  hussars  jingling  along,  wearing  jackets 
of  robin's-egg  blue  faced  with  white;  chasseurs  a 
Cheval,  wearing  turquoise  blue  braided  with  black; 
then  came  the  priests  in  black,  well  groomed  as  jack 
daws  in  April;  policemen  in  sombre  uniforms,  wear 
ing  sword  bayonets ;  gendarmes  off  duty — for  the 
Republican  Guard  takes  the  place  of  the  Gendarmerie 
within  the  walls  of  Paris ;  smart  officers  from  the 
Fontainebleau  artillery  school,  in  cherry-red  and 
black;  Saint-Cyr  soldiers  in  crude  blues  and  reds, 
with  the  blue  shako  smothered  under  plumes ;  then 
Sisters,  in  their  dark  habits  and  white  coifs,  with 
sweet,  serene  faces  looking  out  on  the  sinful  world 
they  spend  their  lives  in  praying  for. 

"  Dulcima,"  I  said,  "  what  particular  characteris 
tic  strikes  you  when  you  watch  these  passing  throngs 
of  women  ?  " 

"  Their  necks ;  every  Parisienne  is  a  beauty  from 
behind — such  exquisite  necks  and  hair." 

"Their  ankles,"  added  Alida  innocently;  "they 
are  the  best-shod  women  in  the  world !  " 

I  had  noticed  something  of  the  sort ;  in  fact,  there 
is  no  escape  for  a  man's  eyes  in  Paris.  Look  where 
he  will,  he  is  bound  to  bring  up  against  two  neat  lit 
tle  shoes  trotting  along  demurely  about  their  own 
frivolous  business.  One  cannot  help  wondering  what 
that  business  may  be  or  where  those  little  polished 

47 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

shoes  are  going  so  lightly,  tap !  tap !  across  the  pol 
ished  asphalt.  And  there  are  thousands  on  thousands 
of  such  shoes,  passing,  repassing,  twinkling  every 
where,  exquisite,  shapely,  gay  little  shoes  of  Paris, 
pattering  through  boulevard  and  avenue,  square,  and 
street  until  the  whole  city  takes  the  cadence,  keeping 
time,  day  and  night,  to  the  little  tripping  feet  of  the 
Parisienne — bless  her,  heart  and  sole! 

"  Of  what  are  you  thinking,  papa?  "  asked  Alida. 

"  Nothing,  child,  nothing,"  I  muttered. 

We  left  our  taxi  and  mounted  to  the  top  of  the 
Arc  de  Triomphe.  The  world  around  us  was  bathed 
in  a  delicate  haze;  silver-gray  and  emerald  the  view 
stretched  on  every  side  from  the  great  Basilica  on 
Montmartre  to  the  silent  Fortress  of  Mont-Valerien ; 
from  the  vast  dome  of  the  Pantheon,  springing  up 
like  a  silver  bubble  in  the  sky,  to  the  dull  golden  dome 
of  the  Invalides,  and  the  dome  of  the  Val-de-Grace. 

Spite  of  the  Sainte  Chapel,  with  its  gilded  lace- 
work,  spite  of  the  bizarre  Tour  Saint-Jacques,  spite 
of  the  lean  monster  raised  by  Monsieur  Eiffel,  strad 
dling  the  vase  Esplanade  in  the  west,  the  solid  twin 
towers  of  Notre-Dame  dominated  the  spreading  city 
by  their  sheer  majesty — dominated  Saint-Sulpice, 
dominated  the  Trocadero,  dominated  even  the  Pan 
theon. 

"  From  those  towers,"  said  I,  "  Quasimodo  looked 
48 


A  Modest  Man  is  Bullied 


down  and  saw  the  slim  body  of  Esmeralda  hanging 
on  the  gibbet." 

"  What  became  of  her  goat  ?  "  asked  Alida,  who 
was  fond  of  pets. 

"  That  reminds  me,"  began  Dulcima,  "  that  now 
we  are  safely  in  Paris  we  might  be  allowed  to  ask 
papa  about  that " 

"  There  is  a  steamer  which  sails  for  New  York  to 
morrow,"  I  said  calmly.  "  Any  mention  of  that  pig 
will  ensure  us  staterooms  in  half  an  hour." 

Considerably  subdued,  the  girls  meekly  opened 
their  Baedekers  and  patronized  the  view,  while  I 
lighted  a  cigar  and  mused. 

It  was  my  second  cigar  that  morning.  Certainly 
I  was  a  changed  man — but  was  it  a  change  for  the 
better?  Within  me  I  felt  something  stirring — I 
knew  not  what. 

It  was  that  long-buried  germ  of  gayety,  that  lat 
ent  uncultivated  and  embryotic  germ  which  lies  dor 
mant  in  all  Anglo-Saxons ;  and  usually  dies  dormant 
or  is  drowned  in  solitary  cocktails  at  a  solemn  club. 

Certainly  I  was  changing.  Van  Dieman  was  right. 
Doubtless  any  change  could  not  be  the  worse  for  a 
man  who  has  not  sufficient  intelligence  to  take  care 
of  his  own  pig. 

"  There  is,"  said  Dulcima,  referring  to  her  guide 
book,  "  a   cafe  near  here  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne, 
5  49 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

called  the  Cafe  des  Fleurs  de  Chine.     I  should  so  love 
to  breakfast  at  a  Chinese  cafe." 

"  With  chopsticks !  "  added  Alida,  soulfully  clasp 
ing  her  gloved  hands. 

"  Your  Cafe  Chinois  is  doubtless  a  rendezvous 
for  Apaches,"  I  said,  "  but  we'll  try  it  if  you  wish." 

I  am  wondering,  now,  just  what  sort  of  a  place 
that  cafe  is,  set  like  a  jewel  among  the  green  trees 
of  the  Bois.  I  know  it  is  expensive,  but  not  very 
expensive ;  I  know,  also,  that  the  dainty  young  per 
sons  who  sipped  mint  on  the  terrace  appeared  to 
disregard  certain  conventionalities  which  I  had  been 
led  to  believe  were  never  disregarded  in  France. 

The  safest  way  was  to  pretend  a  grave  abstraction 
when  their  bright  eyes  wandered  toward  one;  and  I 
did  this,  without  exactly  knowing  why  I  did. 

"  I  wish,"  said  I  to  Dulcima,  "  that  Van  Dieman 
were  here.  He  understands  all  this  surface  life  one 
sees  in  the  parks  and  streets." 

"  Do  you  really  wish  that  Mr.  Van  Dieman  were 
here?  "  asked  Alida,  softly  coloring. 

I  looked  at  her  gravely. 

"  Because,"  she  said,  "  I  believe  he  is  coming  about 
the  middle  of  May." 

"Oh,  he  is,  is  he?"  I  said,  without  enthusiasm. 
"Well,  we  shall  doubtless  be  on  the  Rhine  by  the 
middle  of  May." 

50 


A  Modest  Man  is  Bullied 


"  My  gowns  couldn't  be  finished  until  June  any 
way,"  said  Dulcima,  laying  her  gloved  fingers  on 
Alida's  chair. 

So  they  were  allies,  then. 

"  I  didn't  know  you  had  ordered  any  gowns,"  I 
said  superciliously. 

"  I  haven't — yet,"  she  said  coolly. 

"  Neither  have  I,"  began  Alida ;  but  I  refused  to 
hear  any  more. 

"  When  you  are  at  your  modistes  you  may  talk 
gowns  until  you  faint  away,"  said  I ;  "  but  now  let 
us  try  to  take  an  intelligent  interest  in  this  famous 
and  ancient  capital  of  European  civilization  and 
liberty " 

"  Did  you  notice  that  girl's  gown? "  motioned 
Alida  to  Dulcima. 

I  also  looked.  But  it  was  not  the  beauty  of  the 
gown  that  I  found  so  remarkable. 

"  I  wonder,"  thought  I — "  but  no  matter.  I  wish 
that  idiot  Van  Dieman  were  here." 

That  evening,  after  my  daughters  had  retired,  I 
determined  to  sit  up  later  than  I  ought  to.  The 
reckless  ideas  which  Paris  inspired  in  me,  alarmed  me 
now  and  then.  But  I  was  game. 

So  I  seated  myself  in  the  moonlit  court  of  the 
hotel  and  lighted  an  unwise  cigar  and  ordered 

51 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

what  concerns  nobody  except  the  man  who 
swallowed  it,  and,  crossing  my  legs,  looked  amiably 
around. 

Williams  sat  at  the  next  table. 

"  Hello,  old  sport,"  he  said  affably. 

"  Williams,"  I  said,  "  guess  who  I  was  thinking 
about  a  moment  ago." 

"A  girl?" 

"  No,  of  course  not.  I  was  thinking  of  Jim  Lan- 
don.  What  ever  became  of  him?  " 

"Jim?     Oh,  he's  all  right." 

"  Successful?  " 

"  Very.  You  ought  to  have  heard  of  him  over 
there;  but  I  suppose  you  don't  keep  up  with  art 
news." 

"  No,"  I  admitted,  ashamed—"  it's  rather  difficult 
to  keep  up  with  anything  on  Long  Island.  Does  Jim 
Landon  live  here?  " 

"  In  Normandy,  with  his  wife." 

"  Oh,  he  got  married.  Was  it  that  wealthy  St. 
Louis  girl  who " 

"  No ;  she  married  into  the  British  Peerage.  No, 
Landon  didn't  do  anything  of  that  sort.  Quite  the 
contrary." 

"  He— he  didn't  marry  his  model,  did  he?  " 

"  Yes — in  a  way." 

"In  a  way?" 

52 


A  Modest  Man  is  Bullied 


Williams  summoned  a  waiter  who  shifted  his  equip 
ment  to  my  table. 

"  It's  rather  an  unusual  story,"  he  said.  "  Would 
you  care  to  hear  it?  " 

"  Does  it  portray,  with  your  well  known  literary 
skill,  the  confusion  of  a  parent?  "  I  inquired  cau 
tiously.  "  If  it  does,  don't  tell  it." 

"It   doesn't." 

"Oh.     Nobody  puts  it  all  over  the  old  man?" 

"  No,  not  in  this  particular  instance.  Shall  I  be- 
gin?" 

"  Shoot,"  I  said. 

He  began  with  his  usual  graceful  gesture : 

Landon  was  dead  broke. 

As  it  had  not  been  convenient  for  him  to  breakfast 
that  morning,  he  was  irritable.  The  mockery  of 
handsome  hangings  and  antique  furniture  in  the 
outer  studio  increased  his  irritation  as  he  walked 
through  it  into  the  rough,  inner  workshop,  which  was 
hung  with  dusty  casts  and  dreary  with  clay  and 
plaster. 

Here  Ellis  found  him,  an  hour  later,  smoking  a 
cigarette  to  deceive  his  appetite,  and  sulkily  wetting 
down  the  clay  bust  of  a  sheep-faced  old  lady — an  or 
der  of  the  post-mortem  variety  which  he  was  execut 
ing  from  a  gruesome  photograph. 

53 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  How,"  inquired  Ellis,  "  is  the  coy  Muse  treating 
you  these  palmy,  balmy  days?  " 

Landon  swore  and  squirted  a  spongeful  of  water 
over  the  old  lady's  side  curls. 

"My!  my!  As  bad  as  that?"  commented  Ellis, 
raising  his  eyebrows.  "  I  thought  you  expected  to 
be  paid  for  that  tombstone." 

"  Man,  I've  been  eating,  drinking,  and  sleeping  on 
that  tombstone  all  winter.  Last  night  I  gnawed  off 
the  '  Hie  Jacet '  and  washed  it  down  with  the  date. 
There's  nothing  left." 

"You've — ah — breakfasted,  dear  friend?" 

"  That's  all  right " 

"Have  you?" 

"  No.  But  there's  a  man  from  Fourth  Avenue 
coming  to  buy  some  of  that  superfluous  magnificence 
in  the  show  studio.  Besides,  I'll  be  paid  for  this  old 
lady  in  a  day  or  two —  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  Out,"  said  Ellis,  briefly. 

Landon,  left  alone,  threw  a  bit  of  wet  clay  at  the 
doorknob,  stood  irresolutely,  first  on  one  foot,  then 
on  the  other ;  then  with  a  hearty  scowl  at  the  sheep- 
faced  old  lady  washed  her  complacent  face  with  a 
dripping  sponge. 

"  Williams  !  "  I  interrupted  violently,  "  how  do  you 
know  all  those  details  ?  " 

54 


A  Modest  Man  is  Bullied 


"  My  Lord,  man !  "  he  retorted ;  "  I  write  for  a  liv 
ing.     I've  got  to  know  them." 
"  Go  on,  then,"  I  said. 
He  went  on : 

A  few  moments  later  Ellis  came  in  with  rolls,  milk 
and  fruit. 

"  That's  very  decent  of  you,"  said  Landon,  but  the 
other  cut  him  short,  excitedly. 

"  Jim,  who  is  the  divinity  I  just  met  in  your  hall 
way  ?  Yours  ?  " 

"What   divinity?" 

"  Her  hair,"  said  Ellis,  a  little  wildly,  "  is  the  color 
of  Tuscan  gold ;  her  eyes,  ultra  marine ;  and  the  skin 
of  her  is  just  pure  snow  with  a  brushful  of  carmine 
across  the  lips — and  the  Great  Sculptor  Himself 
must  have  moulded  her  body— 

Landon  shrugged  and  buttered  a  roll.  "  You  let 
her  alone,"  he  said. 

"  Reveal  to  me  instantly  her  name,  titles,  and  qual 
ity  !  "  shouted  Ellis,  unsheathing  a  Japanese  sword. 

"  Her  name,"  said  Landon,  "  is  O'Connor ;  her 
quality  is  that  of  a  shopgirl.  She  is  motherless 
and  alone,  and  inhabits  a  kennel  across  the  hall. 
Don't  make  eyes  at  her.  She'll  probably  believe 
whatever  the  first  gentlemanly  blackguard  tells- 
her." 

55 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

Ellis  said :  "  Why  may  I  not — in  a  delicately  de 
tached  and  gayly  impersonal,  yet  delightfully  and 
evasively  irrational  manner,  calculated  to  deceive 
nobody " 

"  That  would  sound  very  funny  in  the  Latin  Quar 
ter.  This  is  New  York."  He  rose,  frowning.  Pres 
ently  he  picked  up  the  sponge.  "  Better  let  a  lonely 
heart  alone,  unless  you're  in  earnest,"  he  said,  and 
flung  the  sponge  back  into  a  bucket  of  water,  dried 
his  hands,  and  looked  around. 

"  Have  you  sold  any  pictures  yet?  " 

"  Not  one.  I  thought  I  had  a  Copper  King  nailed 
to  the  ease],  but  Fate  separated  us  on  a  clinch  and  he 
got  away  and  disappeared  behind  the  bars  of  his  safe 
deposit.  How  goes  the  market  with  you?" 

"  Dead.     I  can  live  on  my  furniture  for  a  while." 

"  I  thought  you  were  going  in  on  that  competition 
for  the  Department  of  Peace  at  Washington." 

"  I  am,  if  I  have  enough  money  left  to  hire  a 
model." 

Ellis  rose,  twirled  his  walking-stick  meditatively, 
glanced  at  his  carefully  brushed  hat,  and  placed  it 
gravely  on  his  head. 

"  Soon,"  he  said  cheerfully,  "  it  will  be  time  for 
straw  hats.  But  where  I'm  going  to  get  one  I  don't 
know.  Poverty  used  to  be  considered  funny  in  the 
Quarter;  but  it's  no  idle  jest  in  this  town.  Well — 

56 


A  Modest  Man  is  Bullied 


I'll  let  your  best  girl  alone,  Jim,  if  you  feel  that  way 
about  it." 

They  laughed  and  shook  hands. 

In  the  corridor  Ellis  looked  hard  at  the  closed  door 
opposite,  and  his  volatile  heart  gave  a  tortured 
thump ;  he  twirled  his  stick  and  sauntered  out  into 
Stuyvesant  Square. 


CHAPTER    V 

DREAMLAND 

A  winter  faded  into  spring  the  first  tracery  of 
green    fringed    the    branches    in    Stuyvesant 
Square.       The    municipal    authorities    deco 
rated   the    grass    with   tulips    and   later    with    gera 
niums.     Later  still,  cannas  and  foliage  plants  were 
planted,    over    which    two    fountains    spurted    aqua 
Crotonis. 

But  in  spite  of  tasteless  horticulture  it  is  a  quaint 
old  square,  a  little  sad  and  shabby,  perhaps,  yet  mer 
cifully  green  inside  its  two  iron-railed  parallelograms. 
Above  the  great  sycamores  and  elms  the  truncated 
towers  of  St.  George's  brood  heavily  ;  along  the  short, 
leafy  reach  of  Rutherford  Place  an  old-time  Quaker 
meeting-house  keeps  gentle  vigil;  northward,  aged 
mansions  peer  at  the  square  through  time-dimmed 

58 


Dreamland 


windows ;  south,  above  the  Sisters  of  The  Assump 
tion,  a  painted  Virgin  clasps  her  stone  hands  and 
looks  down  on  the  little  children  of  the  poor. 

Along  the  east  side  of  the  square  runs  Livingston 
Place ;  behind  it  an  elevated  railroad  roars ;  in  front 
lies  the  square,  shabby,  unkempt,  but  lovely  always, 
when  night  lends  to  it  her  mystery.  For  at  night 
the  trees  loom  gigantic ;  lights  sparkle  over  lawn  and 
fountain ;  the  illuminated  dial  of  St.  George's  hangs 
yellow  as  a  harvest  moon  above  the  foliage ;  and  the 
pleasant  bell  sounds  from  the  towers,  changing,  for 
a  moment,  the  streets'  incessant  monotone  to  a  har 
mony. 

Into  this  square  went  Landon ;  oftener,  as  the  sum 
mer  grew  hotter  and  work  grew  scarcer. 

Once,  at  the  close  of  a  scorching  afternoon,  his 
pretty  neighbour  from  across  the  corridor  came 
slowly  into  the  square  and  rested  for  a  few  moments 
on  the  same  bench  he  occupied. 

So  lovely  and  fresh  and  sweet  she  seemed  in  the 
early  dusk  that  he,  for  an  instant,  was  tempted  from 
his  parched  loneliness  to  speak  to  her ;  but  before  he 
could  bring  himself  to  it  she  turned,  recognized  him, 
rose  and  went  back  to  the  house  without  a  second 
glance. 

"  We've  been  neighbours  for  a  year,"  he  thought, 
"  and  she  has  never  been  civil  enough  to  look  at  me 

59 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

yet — and  I've  been  too  civil  to  look  at  her.  I  was 
an  ass." 

He  was  wrong ;  she  had  looked  at  him  often,  when 
unafraid  that  his  eyes  might  surprise  her. 

He  was  amusingly  wrong.  Waking,  she  remem 
bered  him ;  during  the  long  day  she  thought  of  him ; 
at  night,  when  she  returned  from  business,  the  radi 
ance  from  his  studio  lamp  streaming  through  the 
transom  had  for  her  all  the  thrilling  fascination  that 
a  lighted  shop  window,  at  Christmas,  has  for  a  lone 
some  child  passing  in  darkness. 

From  the  dim  monotony  of  her  own  life  she  had,  at 
times,  caught  glimpses  through  his  open  door  of 
splendours  scarcely  guessed.  In  her  eyes  an  en 
chanted  world  lay  just  beyond  his  studio's  threshold; 
a  bright,  warm,  mellow  wonderland,  indistinct  in  the 
golden  lamplight,  where  only  a  detail  here  and  there 
half  revealed  a  figured  tapestry  or  carved  foliation — 
perhaps  some  soft  miracle  of  ancient  Eastern  weav 
ing  on  the  floor,  perhaps  a  mysterious  marble  shape 
veiled  in  ruddy  shadow — enough  to  set  her  youthful 
imagination  on  fire,  enough  to  check  her  breath  and 
start  the  pulses  racing  as  she  turned  the  key  in  her 
own  door  and  reentered  the  white  dusk  of  her  own 
life  once  more. 

The  three  most  important  events  of  her  brief  ca 
reer  had  occurred  within  the  twelvemonth — her  moth- 

60 


Dreamland 


er's  death,  her  coming  here  to  live — and  love.  That 
also  had  happened.  But  she  did  not  call  it  love ;  it  did 
not  occur  to  her  to  consider  him  in  any  possible, 
tangible  relation  to  herself. 

She  never  even  expected  to  know  him,  to  speak  to 
him,  or  that  he  could  possibly  care  to  speak  to  her. 
As  far  as  the  east  is  from  the  west,  so  far  apart  were 
their  two  worlds.  For  them  the  gusty  corridor  was 
wider  than  interstellar  voids;  she  had  not  even  a 
thought  that  a  miracle  might  bridge  the  infinite  from 
her  tiny  world  to  his,  which  seemed  to  her  so  bright 
and  splendid ;  she  had  never  advanced  farther  than 
the  happiness  of  lying  still  after  the  day's  work, 
and  thinking,  innocently,  of  what  she  knew  about 
him  and  what  she  timidly  divined. 

At  such  times,  stretched  across  her  bed,  the  backs 
of  her  hands  resting  on  her  closed  lids,  she  pon 
dered  on  that  alluring  wonderland,  his  studio — of 
the  mystery  that  so  fittingly  surrounded  his  art 
ist's  life.  She  saw  him  always  amid  the  tints  and 
hues  of  ancient  textiles,  sometimes  dreaming,  some 
times  achieving  with  fiery  inspiration — but  precisely 
how  or  what  he  achieved  remained  to  her  part  of  his 
mystery.  She  cherished  only  the  confused  vision  of 
the  youth  of  him,  and  its  glorious  energy  and  wisdom. 

He  could  be  very  human,  too,  she  thought;  and 
often  the  smile  curved  her  lips  and  cheeks  at  the 

61 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

recollection  of  the  noisy  gayety  coming  in  gusts 
through  his  transom  on  those  nights  when  his  friends 
were  gathered  there — laughter  and  song — the  incense 
of  tobacco  drifting  into  her  own  white  room  from  the 
corridor.  She  loved  it;  the  odor  seemed  spicy  with 
a  delicate  hint  of  sweet-brier,  and  she  opened  her 
transom  wider  to  let  it  in. 

Usually  she  fell  asleep,  the  distant  uproar  of  gay 
ety  lulling  her  into  happier  slumbers.  And  for  days 
and  nights  afterward  its  recollection  made  life  easier 
and  pleasanter,  as  though  she  lived  with  amusing 
memories  of  events  in  which  she  herself  had  partici 
pated. 

All  day  long,  in  a  fashionable  dry-goods  shop,  she 
sold  cobweb  finery  and  frail,  intimate,  lacy  stuffs  to 
very  fine  ladies,  who  usually  drew  a  surprised  breath 
at  her  beauty,  and  sometimes  dealt  with  her  as 
though  they  were  dealing  writh  one  of  their  own  caste. 

At  night,  tired,  she  looked  forward  to  her  return, 
when,  behind  her  own  closed  door,  she  could  rest  or 
read  a  little,  or  lie  still  and  think  of  Landon.  But 
even  in  the  daring  magic  of  waking  dreams  she  had 
scarcely  ventured  any  acquaintance  with  him;  in 
dreamland  they  were  as  yet  only  just  aware  of  one 
another.  He  had  lately — oh,  breathless  and  auda 
cious  imagination  of  hers ! — smiled  at  her  in  the  cor 
ridors  of  dreamland ;  and  she  had  been  a  good  many 

62 


Dreamland 


days  trying  to  decide  what  she  was  going  to  do 
about  it.  In  her  phantom  world  matters  were  going 
well  with  her. 

Meanwhile,  except  for  the  stupefying  heat,  the  ac 
tual  world  was  also  going  well  with  her.  She  had 
saved  a  little  money,  enough  to  give  her  ten  days  of 
luxury  and  fresh  air  when  the  time  came.  She  needed 
it ;  the  city  had  been  hard  on  her.  Yet  the  pleasure 
of  going  was  not  unmixed ;  for,  as  the  day  of  her  re 
lease  drew  nearer,  she  realized  how,  within  the  year, 
he  had,  in  her  dreams,  insensibly  become  to  her  a 
part  of  her  real  life,  and  that  she  would  miss  him 
sorely.  Which  gave  her  courage  to  hasten  their  ac 
quaintance  in  dreamland;  and  so  it  came  about  that 
he  spoke  to  her  one  night  as  she  lay  dreaming,  awake 
on  her  pillow ;  and  she  felt  her  cheeks  burn  in  the 
dark  as  though  it  had  all  been  real. 

Yet  he  was  very  gentle  with  her  in  dreamland — 
quite  wonderful — indeed,  all  that  the  most  stilted 
vision  of  a  young  girl  could  desire. 

Less  unquiet,  now  that  they  knew  each  other,  she 
looked  forward  to  the  real  separation  with  compara 
tive  resignation. 

Then  came  that  unexpected  episode  when  she 
seated  herself  on  the  same  bench  with  him,  uninten 
tionally  braving  him  in  the  flesh. 

All  that  night  she  thought  about  it  in  consterna- 
63 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

tion — piteously  explaining  it  to  him  in  dreamland. 
He  understood — in  dreamland — but  did  he  under 
stand  in  real  life?  Would  he  think  she  had  meant 
to  give  him  a  chance  to  speak — horror  of  crimson 
dismay !  Would  he  think  her  absurd  to  leave  so 
abruptly  when  he  caught  her  eye  ?  And  oh,  she  cared 
so  much  what  he  might  think,  so  much  more  than 
she  supposed  she  dared  care ! 

All  day  long  it  made  her  miserable  as  she  moved 
listlessly  behind  the  counter ;  at  night  the  heated 
pavements  almost  stunned  her  as  she  walked  home 
to  save  the  pennies. 

She  saw  no  light  in  his  studio  as  she  slipped 
through  the  corridor  into  her  stifling  room.  Later, 
she  bathed  and  dressed  in  a  thinner  gown,  but  it, 
also,  was  in  black,  in  memory  of  her  mother,  and 
seemed  to  sere  her  body.  The  room  grew  hotter; 
she  went  out  to  the  passage ;  no  light  threatened  her 
from  his  transom,  so  she  ventured  to  leave  her  door 
open. 

But  even  this  brought  no  relief;  the  heat  be 
came  unendurable ;  and  she  rose  at  last,  pinned  on 
her  big  black  hat  of  straw,  and  went  out  into  the 
dusk. 

Through  the  gates  of  the  square  she  saw  the  poor 
surging  into  the  park.  The  police  had  opened  the 
scant  bits  of  lawn  to  them.  Men,  women,  children^ 

64 


Dreamland 


lay  half-naked  on  the  grass,  fighting  for  breath. 
And,  after  a  little  while,  she  crossed  the  street  and 
went  in  among  them. 

The  splash  of  the  fountain  was  refreshing.  She 
wandered  at  random,  past  the  illuminated  fa£ade  of 
the  Lying-in  Hospital,  past  the  painted  Virgin,  then 
crossed  Second  Avenue,  entered  the  gates  again,  and 
turned  aimlessly  by  the  second  fountain.  There 
seemed  to  be  no  resting-place  for  her  on  the  crowded 
benches. 

Beyond  the  fountain  a  shadowy  sycamore  stood 
in  the  centre  of  a  strip  of  lawn.  She  went  toward  it, 
hesitated,  glancing  at  the  motionless,  recumbent 
figures  near  by,  then  ventured  to  seat  herself  on  the 
grass  and  lean  back  against  the  tree.  Presently,  she 
unpinned  her  hat,  lifted  a  white  face  to  the  night, 
and  closed  her  eyes. 

How  long  she  sat  there  she  did  not  know  when 
again  she  opened  her  tired  lids. 

A  figure  stood  near  her.  For  a  moment  she  con 
fused  dream  and  reality  and  smiled  at  him ;  then  sat 
up,  rigid,  breathless,  as  the  figure  stirred  and  came 
forward. 

She  remembered  attempting  to  rise,  remembered 
nothing  else  very  distinctly — not  even  his  first  words, 
though  his  voice  was  gentle  and  pleasant,  just  as  it 
was  in  dreamland. 

6  66 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  Do  you  mind  my  speaking  to  you?  "  he  was 
asking  now. 

"  No,"  she  said  faintly. 

He  raised  his  head  and  looked  out  across  the  fever 
ish  city,  passing  one  thin  hand  across  his  eyes.  Then, 
with  a  slight  movement  of  his  shoulders,  he  seated 
himself  on  the  ground  at  her  feet. 

"  We  have  been  neighbours  so  long,"  he  said, 
"  that  I  thought  perhaps  I  might  dare  to  speak  to 
you  to-night.  My  name  is  Landon — James  Landon. 
I  think  I  know  your  last  name." 

"O'Connor — Ellie  O'Connor — Eleanor,  I  mean," 
she  added,  unafraid.  A  curious  peace  seemed  to  pos 
sess  her  at  the  sound  of  his  voice.  There  was  a  still 
ness  in  it  that  reassured. 

The  silence  between  them  was  ringed  with  the  dis 
tant  roar  of  the  city.  He  looked  around  him  at  the 
shadowy  forms  flung  across  bench  and  lawn ;  his  ab 
sent  glance  swept  the  surrounding  walls  of  masonry 
and  iron,  all  a-glitter  with  tiny,  lighted  windows. 
Overhead  a  tarnished  moon  looked  down  into  the  vast 
trap  where  five  million  souls  lay  caught,  gasping  for 
air — he  among  the  others — and  this  young  girl  be 
side  him — trapped,  helpless,  foredoomed.  The  city 
had  got  them  all!  But  he  sat  up  the  straighter, 
giving  the  same  slightly-impatient  shake  to  his 
shoulders. 

66 


Dreamland 


"  I  came,"  he  said,  "  to  ask  you  one  or  two  ques 
tions — if  I  may." 

"  Ask  them,"  she  answered,  as  in  a  dream. 

"  Then — you  go  to  business,  do  you  not?  " 

"  Yes." 

He  nodded :  "  And  now  I'm  going  to  venture  an 
other  question  which  may  sound  impertinent,  but  I 
do  not  mean  it  so.  May  I?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said  in  a  low,  hushed  voice,  as  though 
a  clearer  tone  might  break  some  spell. 

"  It  is  about  your  salary.  I  do  not  suppose  it  is 
very  large." 

"  My  wages  ?  Shall  I  tell  you  ?  "  she  asked,  so  in 
nocently  that  he  flushed  up. 

"  No,  no ! — I  merely  wish  to — to  find  out  from 
you  whether  you  might  care  to  take  a  chance  of  in 
creasing  your  salary." 

"  I  don't  think  I  know  what  you  mean,"  she  said, 
looking  at  him. 

"  I  know  you  don't,"  he  said,  patiently ;  "  let  me 
begin  a  little  farther  back.  I  am  a  sculptor.  You 
know,  of  course,  what  that  is " 

"  Yes.  I  am  educated."  She  even  found  courage 
to  smile  at  him. 

His  answering  smile  covered  both  confusion  and 
surprise ;  then  perplexity  etched  a  crease  between 
his  brows. 

67 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  That  makes  it  rather  harder  for  me  " — he  hesi 
tated — "  or  easier ;  I  don't  know  which." 

"What  makes  it  harder?"  she  asked. 

"  Your  being — I  don't  know — different — from 
what  I  imagined " 

"Educated?" 

"  Y-yes " 

She  laughed  deliciously  in  her  new-born  confidence. 

"  What  is  it  you  wish  to  ask?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you,"  he  said.  "  I  need  a  model — and 
I'm  too  poor  to  pay  for  one.  I've  pledged  every 
thing  in  my  studio.  A  chance  has  come  to  me.  It's 
only  a  chance,  however.*  But  I  can't  take  it  because 
I  cannot  afford  a  model." 

There  was  a  silence;  then  she  inquired  what  he 
meant  by  a  model.  And  he  told  her — not  everything, 
not  clearly. 

"  You  mean  that  you  wish  me  to  sit  for  my  por 
trait  in  marble  ?  " 

"  There  are  two  figures  to  be  executed  for  the  new 
Department  of  Peace  in  Washington,"  he  explained, 
"  and  they  are  to  be  called  '  Soul '  and  <  Body.'  Six 
sculptors  have  been  invited  to  compete.  I  am  one. 
We  have  a  year  before  us." 

She  remained  silent. 

"  It  is  perfectly  apparent,  of  course,  that  you  are 
exquis — admirably  fitted  " — he  stammered  under  her 

68 


Dreamland 


direct  gaze,  then  went  on ;  "I  scarcely  dared  dream 
of  such  a  model  even  if  I  had  the  means  to  afford — " 
He  could  get  no  further. 

"  Are  you  really  poor  ?  "  she  asked  in  gentle  won 
der. 

"  At  present — yes." 

"  I  never  dreamed  it,"  she  said.  "  I  thought — 
otherwise." 

"  Oh,  it  is  nothing ;  some  day  things  will  come  out 
right.  Only — I  have  a  chance  now — if  you — if  you 
would  help  me.  ...  I  could  win  with  you;  I  know 
it.  And  if  I  do  win — -with  your  aid — I  will  double 
your  present  salary.  And  that  is  what  I've  come 
here  to  say.  Is  that  fair?  " 

He  waited,  watching  her  intently.  She  had 
dropped  her  eyes,  sitting  there  very  silent,  at  the  foot 
of  the  tree,  cradling  the  big  straw  hat  in  her  lap. 

"  Whatever  you  decide  to  be  fair — "  he  began 
again,  but  she  looked  up  wistfully. 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  that,"  she  said ;  "  I  was 
only — sorry." 

"Sorry?" 

"  That  you  are  poor." 

He  misunderstood  her.  "  I  know ;  I  wish  I  could 
offer  you  something  beside  a  chance " 

"  Oh-h,"  she  whispered,  but  so  low  that  he  heard 
only  a  long,  indrawn  breath. 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

She  sat  motionless,  eyes  on  the  grass.  When 
again  she  lifted  them  their  pure  beauty  held  him. 

"What  is  it  you  wish?"  she  asked.  "That  I 
should  be  your  model  for  the — this  prize  which  you 
desire  to  strive  for?  " 

"  Yes  ;  for  that." 

"  How  can  I  ?     I  work  all  day." 

"  I  could  use  you  at  night  and  on  Saturday  after 
noons,  and  all  day  Sunday.  And — have  you  had 
your  yearly  vacation  ?  " 

She  drew  a  quietly  tired  breath.     "  No,"  she  said. 

"  Then — I  will  give  you  two  hundred  dollars  extra 
for  those  ten  days,"  he  went  on  eagerly — so  eagerly 
that  he  forgot  the  contingency  on  which  hung  any 
payment  at  all.  As  for  her,  payment  was  not  even 
in  her  thoughts. 

Through  the  deep,  sweet  content  which  came  to 
her  with  the  chance  of  serving  him,  ran  an  under 
current  of  confused  pain  that  he  could  so  blindly  mis 
understand  her.  If  she  thought  at  all  of  the  amaz 
ing  possibility  of  such  a  fortune  as  he  offered,  she 
knew  that  she  would  not  accept  it  from  him.  But 
this,  and  the  pain  of  his  misunderstanding,  scarcely 
stirred  the  current  of  a  strange,  new  happiness  that 
flowed  through  every  vein. 

"  Do  you  think  I  could  really  help  you?  " 
"  If  you  will."     His  voice  trembled. 
70 


Dreamland 


"  Are  you  sure — quite  sure  ?  If  you  are — I  will 
do  what  you  wish." 

He  sprang  up  buoyant,  transfigured. 

"  If  I  win  it  will  be  you!  "  he  said.  "  Could  you 
come  into  the  studio  a  moment?  I'll  show  you  the 
two  sketches  I  have  made  for  '  Soul '  and  '  Body'." 

On  the  prospect  of  a  chance — the  chance  that  had 
come  at  last — he  was  completely  forgetting  that  she 
must  be  prepared  to  comprehend  what  he  required 
of  her;  he  forgot  that  she  could  know  nothing  of  a 
sculptor's  ways  and  methods  of  production.  On  the 
way  to  the  studio,  however,  he  tardily  remembered, 
and  it  rather  scared  him. 

"  Do  you  know  any  painters  or  sculptors  ?  "  he 
asked,  keeping  impatient  pace  beside  her. 

"  I  know  a  woman  who  makes  casts  of  hands  and 
arms,"  she  said  shyly.  "  She  stopped  me  in  the  street 
once  and  asked  permission  to  cast  my  hands.  Would 
you  call  her  a  sculptor  ?  " 

"  N — well,  perhaps  she  may  be.  We  sculptors 
often  use  casts  of  the  human  body."  He  plunged 
into  it  more  frankly :  "  You  know,  of  course,  that  to 
become  a  sculptor  or  a  painter,  one  has  to  model  and 
paint  from  living  people." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  undisturbed. 

"  And,"  he  continued,  "  it  wrould  be  impossible  for  a 
sculptor  to  produce  the  beautiful  marbles  you  have 

71 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

seen — er — around — unless  he  could  pose  a  living 
model  to  copy  from." 

An  unquiet  little  pulse  began  to  beat  in  her  breast ; 
she  looked  up  at  him,  but  he  was  smiling  so  amiably 
that  she  smiled,  too. 

Mortally  afraid  of  frightening  her,  he  could  not 
exactly  estimate  how  much  she  divined  of  what  was 
to  be  required  of  her. 

He  continued  patiently :  "  Unless  a  student  dissects 
he  can  never  become  a  surgeon.  It  is  the  same  with 
us ;  our  inspiration  and  originality  must  be  founded 
on  a  solid  study  of  the  human  body.  That  is  why 
we  must  always  have  before  us  as  perfect  a  living 
model  as  we  can  find." 

"  Do — do  you  think — "  she  stopped,  pink  and 
confused. 

"  I  think,"  he  said,  quietly  impersonal,  "  that, 
speaking  as  a  sculptor,  you  are  as  perfect  and  as 
beautiful  a  model  as  ever  the  old  Greek  masters  saw, 
alive  or  in  their  dreams." 

"  I — did  not — know  it,"  she  faltered,  thrilling 
from  head  to  foot. 

They  entered  the  corridor  together.  Her  breath 
came  faster  as  he  unlocked  his  door  and,  turning  up 
a  lamp,  invited  her  to  enter. 

At  last  in  the  magic  world!     And  with  him! 

Figured  tapestries  hung  from  the  golden  mystery 
72 


Dreamland 


of  the  ceiling;  ancient  dyes  glowed  in  the  soft  rugs 
under  foot ;  the  mellow  light  glimmered  on  dull  folia 
tions.  She  stood  still,  looking  about  her  as  in  a 
trance. 

"  All  this  I  will  buy  back  again  with  your  help," 
he  said,  laughingly ;  but  his  unsteady  voice  betrayed 
the  tension  to  which  he  was  keyed.  A  slow  excite 
ment  was  gaining  on  her,  too. 

"  I  will  redeem  all  these  things,  never  fear,"  he 
said,  gayly. 

"  Oh — if  you  only  can.  .  .  .  It  is  too  cruel  to  take 
such  things  from  you." 

The  emotion  in  her  eyes  and  voice  surprised  him 
for  one  troubled  moment.  Then  the  selfishness  of 
the  artist  ignored  all  else  save  the  work  and  the  op 
portunity. 

"  You  will  help  me,  won't  you  ?  "  he  asked.  "  It  is 
a  promise?  " 

"  Yes— I  will." 

"  Is  it  a  promise?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  wondering. 

"Then  please  sit  here.  I  will  bring  the  sketches. 
They  merely  represent  my  first  idea;  they  are  done 
without  a  living  model."  He  was  off,  lighting  a 
match  as  he  hastened.  A  tapesty  fell  back  into  place ; 
she  lifted  her  blue  eyes  to  the  faded  figures  of  saints 
and  seraphim  stirring  when  the  fabric  moved. 

73 


CHAPTER    VI 


SOUL    AND    BODY 

S  in  a  blessed  vision,  doubting1 
the   reality  of  it  all,   she   sat 
looking  upward  until  his  step 
on  some  outer  floor  aroused  her  to  the 
wondrous  reality. 

He  came,  holding  two  clay  figures.     The  first  was 
an   exquisite   winged   shape,   standing  with   delicate 
limbs  parallel,  arms  extended,  palms  outward.     The 
head  was  lifted  a  little,  poised  exquisitely  on  the  per 
fect  neck.     Its  loveliness  thrilled  her. 
"  Is  it  an  angel?  "  she  asked,  innocently. 
"  No.  ...  I  thought  you  understood — this  is  only 
a  sketch  I  made.     And  this  is  the  other."     And  he 
placed  on  a  table  the  second  figure,  a  smooth,  youth 
ful,  sensuous  shape,  looking  aside  and  down  at  her 
own  white  fingers  playing  with  her  hair. 
"Is  it  Eve?"  she  inquired,  wondering. 
"These,"    he    said    slowly,    "are    the    first    two 
sketches,  done  without  a  model,  for  my  two  figures 
*  Soul '  and  «  Body  '." 

74 


Soul  and  Body 


She  looked  at  him,  not  comprehending. 

"  I — I  must  have  a  living  model — for  these,"  he 
stammered.  "  Didn't  you  understand?  I  want  you 
to  work  from." 

From  brow  to  throat  the  scarlet  stain  deepened  and 
spread.  She  turned,  laid  one  small  hand  on  the 
back  of  the  chair,  faltered,  sank  onto  it,  covering 
her  face. 

"  I  thought  you  understood,"  he  repeated  stupidly. 
"  Forgive  me — I  thought  you  understood  what  sort 
of  help  I  needed."  He  dropped  on  one  knee  beside 
her.  "  I  am  so  sorry.  Try  to  reason  a  little.  You 
— you  must  know  I  meant  no  offense — that  I  never 
could  wish  to  offend  you.  Look  at  me,  please ;  I  am 
not  that  sort  of  a  man.  Can't  you  realize  how  des 
perate  I  was — how  I  dared  hazard  the  chance  that 
you  might  help  me?  " 

She  rose,  her  face  still  covered. 

"  Can't  you  comprehend?  "  he  pleaded,  "  that  I 
meant  no  offense?  " 

"  Y-yes.     Let  me  go." 

"  Can  you  forgive  me  ?  " 

"  I— yes." 

"  And  you  cannot — help  me  ?  " 

"  H-help  you?  .  .  .  Oh,  no,  no,  no!"  She  broke 
down,  sobbing  in  the  chair,  her  golden  head  buried 
in  her  arms. 

75 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

Confused,  miserable,  he  watched  her.  Already  the 
old  helpless  feeling  had  come  surging  back,  that  there 
was  to  be  no  chance  for  him  in  the  world,  no  hope  of 
all  he  had  dared  to  believe  in,  no  future.  Watching 
her  he  felt  his  own  courage  falling  with  her  tears, 
his  own  will  drooping  as  she  drooped  there — slender 
and  white  in  her  thin,  black  gown. 

Again  he  spoke,  for  the  moment  forgetting  him 
self. 

"  Don't  cry,  because  there  is  nothing  to  cry  about. 
You  know  I  did  not  mean  to  hurt  you;  I  know 
that  you  would  help  me  if  you  could.  Isn't  it 
true?" 

"  Y-yes,"  she  sobbed. 

"  It  was  only  a  sculptor  who  asked  you,  not  a  man 
at  all.  You  understand  what  I  mean? — only  a  poor 
devil  of  a  sculptor,  carried  away  by  the  glamour  of 
a  chance  for  better  fortune  that  seemed  to  open  be 
fore  him  for  a  moment.  So  you  must  not  feel  dis 
tressed  or  sensitive  or  ashamed " 

She  sat  up,  wet  eyed,  cheeks  aflame. 

"  I  am  thinking  of  you!  "  she  cried,  almost  fiercely, 
66  not  of  myself ;  and  you  don't  understand !  Do  you 
think  I  would  cry  over  myself?  I — it  is  because  I 
cannot  help  you!  " 

He  found  no  words  to  answer  as  she  rose  and 
moved  toward  the  door.  She  crossed  the  threshold, 

76 


Soul  and  Body 


turned  and  looked  at  him.     Then  she  entered  her  own 
doorway. 

And  the  world  went  badly  for  her  that  night, 
and,  after  that,  day  and  night,  the  world  went 
badly. 

Always  the  confusion  of  shame  and  dread  returned 
to  burn  her ;  but  that  was  the  least ;  for  in  the  long 
hours,  lying  amid  the  fragments  of  her  shattered 
dreams,  the  knowledge  that  he  needed  her  and  that 
she  could  not  respond,  overwhelmed  her. 

The  house,  the  corridor,  her  room  became  unen 
durable;  she  desired  to  go — anywhere — and  try  to 
forget.  But  she  could  not;  she  could  not  leave,  she 
could  not  forget,  she  could  not  go  to  him  and  offer 
the  only  aid  he  desired,  she  could  not  forgive  her 
self. 

In  vain,  in  vain,  white  with  the  agony  of  courage, 
she  strove  to  teach  herself  that  she  was  nothing,  her 
body  nothing,  that  the  cost  was  nothing,  compared 
to  the  terrible  importance  of  his  necessity.  She  knew 
in  her  heart  that  she  could  have  died  for  him ;  but — 
but — her  courage  could  go  no  further. 

In  terrible  silence  she  walked  her  room,  thinking 
of  him  as  one  in  peril,  as  one  ruined  for  lack  of  the 
aid  she  withheld.  Sometimes  she  passed  hours  on  her 
knees,  tearless,  wordless ;  sometimes  sheerest  fear  set 

77 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

her  creeping  to  the  door  to  peer  out,  dreading  lest 
his  closed  door  concealed  a  tragedy. 

And  always,  burning  like  twin  gray  flames  before 
her  eyes,  she  saw  the  figures  he  had  made,  '  Soul '  and 
4  Body.'  Every  detail  remained  clear ;  their  terrible 
beauty  haunted  her.  Night  after  night,  rigid  on  her 
bed's  edge,  she  stretched  her  bared,  white  arms,  star 
ing  at  them,  then  flung  them  hopelessly  across  her 
eyes,  whispering,  "  I  cannot — O  God — I  cannot — 
even  for  him." 

And  there  came  a  day — a  Saturday — when  the  si 
lence  of  the  house,  of  her  room,  the  silence  in  her 
soul,  became  insupportable.  , 

All  day  she  walked  in  the  icy,  roaring  streets,  driv 
ing  herself  forward  toward  the  phantom  of  forget- 
fulness  which  fled  before  her  like  her  shadow.  And 
at  the  edge  of  noon  she  found  herself — where  she 
knew  she  must  come  one  day — seeking  the  woman 
who  made  plaster  casts  of  hands  and  arms  and  shapely 
feet. 

For  a  little  while  they  talked  together.  The 
woman  surprised,  smiling  sometimes,  but  always  very 
gentle;  the  girl  flushed,  stammering,  distressed  in 
forming  her  naive  questions. 

Yes,  it  could  be  done;  it  had  been  done.  But  it 
was  a  long  process;  it  must  be  executed  in  sections, 
then  set  together  limb  by  limb,  for  there  were  many 

78 


Soul  and  Body 


difficulties — and  it  was  not  pleasant  to  endure,  even 
sometimes  painful. 

"  I  do  not  mind  the  pain,"  said  the  girl.  "  Will 
it  scar  me?  " 

"  No,  not  that.  .  .  .  But,  another  thing ;  it  would 
be  expensive." 

"  I  have  my  vacation  money,  and  a  little  more." 
She  named  the  sum  timidly. 

Yes,  it  was  enough.  And  when  could  she  come  for 
the  first  casts  to  be  taken? 

She  was  ready  now. 

A  little  later,  turning  a  lovely,  flushed  face  over 
her  bare  shoulder :  "  One  figure  stood  like  this,"  and, 
after  a  pause,  "  the  other  this  way.  ...  If  you 
make  them  from  me,  can  a  sculptor  work  from  life 
casts  such  as  these  ?  " 

A  sculptor  could. 

About  dusk  she  crept  home,  trembling  in  every 
nerve.  Her  vacation  had  begun. 

She  had  been  promoted  to  a  position  as  expert  lace 
buyer,  which  permitted  larger  liberty.  From  choice 
she  had  taken  no  vacation  during  the  summer.  Now 
her  vacation,  which  she  requested  for  December, 
lasted  ten  days;  and  at  the  end  of  it  her  last 
penny  had  been  spent,  but  in  a  manner  so  wonderful, 
so  strange,  that  no  maid  ever  dreamed  such  things 
might  be. 

79 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

And  on  the  last  evening  of  it,  which  was  Christmas 
Eve,  she  knelt,  crying,  before  two  pedestals  from 
which  rose  her  body  and  soul  as  white  as  death. 

An  hour  later  the  snowy  twins  stood  in  his  empty 
studio,  swathed  in  their  corpse-white  winding-sheets 
— unstained  cerements,  sealing  beneath  their  folds 
her  dead  pride,  dead  hope — all  that  was  delicate  and 
intimate  and  subtle  and  sweet — slain  and  in  cere 
ments,  for  his  sake. 

And  now  she  must  go  before  he  returned.  Her 
small  trunk  was  ready ;  her  small  account  settled. 
With  strangely  weak  and  unsteady  hands  she  stood 
before  the  glass  knotting  her  veil. 

Since  that  night  together  last  summer  she  had  not 
spoken  to  him,  merely  returning  his  low  greeting  in 
the  corridor  with  a  silent  little  inclination  of  her 
head.  But,  although  she  had  had  no  speech  with 
him,  she  had  learned  that  he  was  teaching  at  the 
League  now,  and  she  knew  his  hours  and  his  move 
ments  well  enough  to  time  her  own  by  them. 

He  was  not  due  for  another  hour;  she  looked  out 
into  the  snowy  darkness,  drawing  on  her  gloves  and 
buttoning  the  scant  fur  collar  close  about  her  throat. 

The  old  janitor  came  to  say  good-by. 

"  An'  God  be  with  you,  miss,  this  Christmas  Eve  " 
— taking  the  coin  irresolutely,  but  pocketing  it  for 
fear  of  hurting  her. 

80 


Christmas  Eve  she  knelt,  crying,  before  the  pedestal." 


Soul  and  Body 


His  fingers,  numbed  and  aged,  fumbling  in  the 
pocket  encountered  another  object. 

"  Musha,  thin,  I'm  afther  f orgettin'  phwat  I'm 
here  f'r  to  tell  ye,  miss,"  he  rambled  on.  "  Misther 
Landon  wishes  ye  f'r  to  know  that  he  do  be  lavin* 
the  house " — the  old  man  moistened  his  lips  in  an 
effort  to  remember  with  all  the  elegance  required  of 
him — "  an'  Misther  Landon  is  wishful  f'r  to  say  a 
genteel  good  luck  to  ye,  miss." 

The  girl  shook  her  head. 

"  Tell  Mr.  Landon  good-by  for  me,  Patrick.  Say 
— from  me —  God  bless  him.  .  .  .  Will  you  remem 
ber?  .  .  .  And  a — a  happy  Christmas." 

"  I  will,  Miss." 

She  touched  her  eyes  with  her  handkerchief  has 
tily,  and  held  out  her  hand  to  the  old  man. 

"  I  think  that  is  all,"  she  whispered. 

She  was  mistaken;  the  janitor  was  holding  out  a 
note  to  her. 

"  In  case  ye  found  it  onconvaynient  f'r  to  see 
Misther  Landon,  I  was  to  projooce  the  letter,  Miss." 

She  took  it ;  a  shiver  passed  over  her. 

When  the  old  man  had  shambled  off  down  the 
passage  she  reentered  her  room,  held  the  envelope 
a  moment  close  under  the  lighted  lamp,  then  ner 
vously  tore  it  wide. 

You  will  read  this  in  case  you  refuse  to  say 
7  81 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

good-by  to  me.  But  I  only  wanted  to  offer  you  a 
little  gift  at  Christmastide — not  in  reparation,  for 
I  meant  no  injury — but  in  deepest  respect  for  you. 
And  so  I  ask  you  once  more  to  wait  for  me.  Will 
you?  " 

Minute  after  minute  she  sat  there,  dumb,  confused, 
nerves  at  the  breaking  point,  her  heart  and  soul  cry 
ing  out  for  him.  Then  the  memory  of  what  was 
awaiting  him  in  his  studio  choked  her  with  fright. 
She  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  at  the  same  moment  the 
outer  gate  clanged. 

Terror  froze  her;  then  she  remembered  that  it 
was  too  early  for  him ;  it  must  be  the  expressman  for 
her  trunk.  And  she  went  to  the  door  and  opened  it. 

"  Oh-h !  "  she  breathed,  shrinking  back ;  but  Lan- 
don  had  seen  his  letter  in  her  hand,  and  he  followed 
her  into  the  room. 

He  was  paler  than  she:  his  voice  was  failing  him, 
too,  as  he  laid  his  gift  on  the  bare  table — only  a  little 
book,  prettily  bound. 

"  Will  you  take  it  ?  "  he  asked  in  a  colorless  voice ; 
but  she  could  not  answer,  could  not  move. 

"  I  wish  you  a  happy  Christmas,"  he  whispered, 
"  Good-by." 

She  strove  to  meet  his  eyes,  strove  to  speak,  lifted 
her  slim  hand  to  stay  him.  It  fell,  strength  spent, 
in  both  of  his. 

82 


Soul  and  Body 


Suddenly  Time  went  all  wrong,  reeling  off  cen 
turies  in  seconds.  And  through  the  endless  inter 
stellar  space  that  stretched  between  her  world  and 
his  she  heard  his  voice  bridging  it :  "I  love  you — I 
love  you  dearly.  .  .  .  Once  more  I  am  the  beggar 
— a  beggar  at  Christmastide,  asking  your  mercy — 
asking  more,  your  love.  Dear,  is  it  plain  this  time?' 
Is  all  clear,  dearest  among  women  ?  " 

She  looked  up  into  his  eyes ;  his  hands  tightened 
over  hers. 

"  Can  you  love  me?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes,"  answered  her  eyes  and  the  fragrant  mouth 
assented,  quivering  under  his  lips. 

Then,  without  will  or  effort  of  her  own,  from  very 
far  away,  her  voice  stole  back  to  her  faintly. 

"Is  all  this  true?  I  have  dreamed  so  long — so 
long — of  loving  you " 

He  drew  her  closer ;  she  laid  both  hands  against 
his  coat  and  hid  her  face  between  them. 

He  whispered : 

"  It  was  your  unselfishness,  your  sweetness,  and — 
you — all  of  you — yes — your  beauty — the  loveliness 
of  you,  too !  I  could  not  put  it  from  me ;  I  knew 
that  night  that  I  loved  you — and  to-day  they  said 
you  were  going — so  I  came  with  my  Christmas  gift 
— the  sorry,  sorry  gift — myself " 

"  Ah !  "    she    whispered,    clinging    closer.      "  And 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

what  of  my  gift — my  twin  gifts — there,  in  your  stu 
dio !  Oh,  you  don't  know,  you  don't  know " 

"Dearest!" 

"  No — you  can  never  know  how  much  easier  it  had 
been  for  me  to  die  than  to  love — as  I  have  loved  a 
man  this  day." 

"  Confound  you,  Williams,"  I  said,  blinking. 

But  he  did  not  hear  me,  sitting  there  in  a  literary 
revery,  mentally  repolishing  the  carefully  considered 
paragraphs  with  which  he  had  just  regaled  me. 

"Williams?" 

"What?" 

"  So — they're  living  in  Normandy." 

"Who?" 

"  Jim  Landon  and  that  girl,  dammit !  "  I  said, 
crossly. 

"  Yes — oh,  yes,  of  course.  Children — bunches  of 
5em— and  all  that." 

"Williams?" 

"What?" 

"  Was  she  so  pretty?" 

"  Certainly,"  he  said,  absently.  "  Don't  bother  me 
now;  I've  got  an  idea  for  another  story." 


CHAPTER    VII 


THE    BITER,    THE     BITTEN,    AND     THE     UN-BITTEN 


M 


AIS  tout  le  monde,"  began  the  chasseur  of 
the  Hotel  des  Michetons- 
tout  le  grand  monde 


mais,  monsieur, 


"  Exactly,"  said  I,  complacently.  "  Le  grand 
monde  means  the  great  world ;  and,"  I  added,  "  the 
world  is  a  planet  of  no  unusual  magnitude,  inhabited 
by  bipeds  whose  entire  existence  is  passed  in  at 
tempting  to  get  something  for  nothing." 

The  chasseur  of  the  Hotel  des  Michetons  bowed,, 
doubtfully. 

"  You  request  me,"  I  continued,  "  noj  to  forget 
you  when  I  go  away.  Why  should  I  not  forget  you  ? 

85 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

Are  you  historical,  are  you  antique,  are  you  rococo, 
are  you  a  Rosacrucian?  " 

The  chasseur,  amiably  perplexed,  twirled  his  gold- 
banded  cap  between  his  fingers. 

"  Have  you,"  I  asked,  "  ever  done  one  solitary 
thing  for  me  besides  touching  your  expensive  cap?  " 

The  chasseur  touched  his  cap,  smiled,  and  hope 
fully  held  out  his  large  empty  hand. 

"  Go  to  the  devil,"  I  said  gently ;  "  it  is  not  for 
what  you  have  done  but  for  what  you  have  NOT  done 
that  I  give  you  this  silver  piece,"  and  I  paid  the  trib 
ute  which  I  despised  myself  for  paying.  Still,  his 
gay  smile  and  prompt  salute  are  certainly  worth 
something  to  see,  but  what  their  precise  value  may 
be  you  can  only  determine  when,  on  returning  to 
New  York,  you  hear  a  gripman  curse  a  woman  for 
crossing  the  sacred  tracks  of  the  Metropolitan  Street 
Railroad  Company.  So,  with  my  daughter  Dulcima 
and  my  daughter  Alida,  and  with  a  wagon-load  of 
baggage,  I  left  the  gorgeously  gilded  Hotel  des 
Michetons — for  these  three  reasons  : 

Number  one :  it  was  full  of  Americans. 

Number  two:  that  entire  section  of  Paris  resem 
bled  a  slice  of  the  Waldorf-Astoria. 

Number  three :  I  wanted  to  be  rid  of  the  New  York 
Herald.  Surely  somewhere  in  Paris  there  existed 
French  newspapers,  French  people,  and  French 

86 


'Biter,  l&itten,  and  Un-bitten 


speech.  I  meant  to  discover  them  or  write  and  com 
plain  to  the  Outlook. 

The  new  hotel  I  had  selected  was  called  the  Hotel 
de  TUnivers.  I  had  noticed  it  while  wandering  out 
of  the  Luxembourg  Gardens.  It  appeared  to  be  a 
well  situated,  modest,  clean  hotel,  and  not  only  thor 
oughly  respectable — which  the  great  gilded  Hotel  des 
Michetons  was  not — but  also  typically  and  thor 
oughly  French.  So  I  took  an  apartment  on  the 
first  floor  and  laid  my  plans  to  dine  out  every  even 
ing  with  my  daughters. 

They  were  naturally  not  favourably  impressed 
with  the  Hotel  de  PUnivers,  but  I  insisted  on  trying 
it  for  a  week,  desiring  that  my  daughters  should 
have  at  least  a  brief  experience  in  a  typical  French 
hotel. 

On  the  third  day  of  our  stay  my  daughters  asked 
me  why  the  guests  at  the  Hotel  de  FUnivers  all  ap 
peared  to  be  afflicted  in  one  way  or  another.  I  my 
self  had  noticed  that  many  of  the  guests  wore  court- 
plaster  on  hands  and  faces,  and  some  even  had  their 
hands  bandaged  in  slings. 

I  thought,  too,  that  the  passers-by  in  the  street 
eyed  the  modest  hotel  with  an  interest  somewhat  out 
of  proportion  to  its  importance.  But  I  set  that 
down  to  French  alertness  and  inbred  curiosity, 
and  dismissed  the  subject  from  my  mind.  The  hotel 

87 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

was  pretty  clean  and  highly  respectable.  Titled 
names  were  not  wanting  among  the  guests,  and  the 
perfect  courtesy  of  the  proprietor,  his  servants,  and 
of  the  guests  was  most  refreshing  after  the  careless 
ness  and  bad  manners  of  the  crowds  at  the  Hotel  des 
Michetons. 

"  Can  it  be  possible  ?  "  said  Alida,  as  we  three 
strolled  out  of  our  hotel  into  the  Boulevard  St. 
Michel. 

"What?"  I  asked. 

"That  we  are  in  the  Latin  Quarter?  Why  this 
boulevard  is  beautiful,  and  I  had  always  pictured  the 
Latin  Quarter  as  very  dreadful." 

"  It's  the  inhabitants  that  are  dreadful,"  said  I 
with  a  shudder  as  a  black-eyed  young  girl,  in  passing, 
gave  me  an  amused  and  exceedingly  saucy  smile. 

The  "  Quarter !  "  It  is  beautiful — one  of  the  most 
beautiful  portions  of  Paris.  The  Luxembourg  Gar 
dens  are  the  centre  and  heart  of  the  Latin  Quarter 
—these  ancient  gardens,  with  their  groves  of  sway 
ing  chestnuts  all  in  bloom,  quaint  weather-beaten 
statues  in  a  grim  semicircle  looking  out  over  the 
flowering  almonds  on  the  terrace  to  the  great  blue 
basin  of  the  fountain  where  toy  yachts  battle  with 
waves  almost  an  inch  high. 

Here  the  big  drab-colored  pigeons  strut  and  coo 
in  the  sunshine,  here  the  carp  splash  in  the  mossy 

88 


Biter,  Bitten,  and  Un-bitten 


fountain  of  Marie  de  Medici,  here  come  the  nurse 
maids  with  their  squalling  charges,  to  sit  on  the  mar 
ble  benches  and  coquette  with  the  red-trousered  sol 
diers,  who  are  the  proper  and  natural  prey  of  all 
nursemaids  in  all  climes. 

"What  is  that  banging  and  squeaking?"  asked 
Alida,  as  we  entered  the  foliage  of  the  southern  ter 
race.  "  Not  Punch  and  Judy — oh,  I  haven't  seen 
Punch  since  I  was  centuries  younger!  Do  let  us 
go,  papa !  " 

Around  the  painted  puppet  box  children  sat,  open- 
mouthed.  Back  of  them  crowded  parents  and  nurses 
and  pretty  girls  and  gay  young  officers,  while,  from 
the  pulpit,  Punch  held  forth  amid  screams  of  infan 
tile  delight,  or  banged  his  friends  with  his  stick  in 
the  same  old  fashion  that  delighted  us  all — centuries 
since. 

"  Such  a  handsome  officer,"  said  Alida  under  her 
breath. 

The  officer  in  question,  a  dragoon,  was  looking  at 
Dulcima  in  that  slightly  mischievous  yet  well-bred 
manner  peculiar  to  European  officers. 

Dulcima  did  not  appear  to  observe  him. 

"  Why — why,  that  is  Monsieur  de  Barsac,  who 
came  over  on  our  ship !  "  said  Alida,  plucking  me 
by  the  sleeve.  "  Don't  you  remember  how  nice  he 
was  when  we  were  so — so  sea — miserable?  You 

89 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

really  ought  to  bow  to  him,  papa.  If  you  don't, 
I  will." 

I  looked  at  the  dragoon  and  caught  his  eye — such 
a  bright,  intelligent,  mischievous  eye ! — and  I  could 
not  avoid  bowing. 

Up  he  came,  sword  clanking,  white-gloved  hand 
glued  to  the  polished  visor  of  his  crimson  cap,  and 
— the  girls  were  delighted. 

Now  what  do  you  suppose  that  Frenchman  did? 
He  gave  up  his  entire  day  to  showing  us  the  beau 
ties  of  the  Rive  Gauche. 

Under  his  generous  guidance  my  daughters  saw 
what  few  tourists  see  intelligently — the  New  Sor- 
bonne,  with  its  magnificent  mural  decorations  by 
Puvis  de  Chavannes ;  we  saw  the  great  white-domed 
Observatory,  piled  up  in  the  sky  like  an  Eastern 
temple,  and  the  beautiful  old  palace  of  the  Lux 
embourg.  Also,  we  beheld  the  Republican  Guards, 
a  cheval,  marching  out  of  their  barracks  on  the  Rue 
de  Tournon ;  and  a  splendid  glittering  company  of 
cavalry  they  were,  with  their  silver  helmets,  orange- 
red  facings,  white  gauntlets,  and  high,  polished  boots 
— the  picked  men  of  all  the  French  forces,  as  far  as 
physique  is  concerned. 

In  the  late  afternoon  haze  the  dome  of  the  Pan 
theon,  towering  over  the  Latin  Quarter,  turned  to 
purest  cobalt  in  the  sky.  Under  its  majestic  shadow 

90 


Biter,,  Bitten,,  and  Un-bitten 


the  Boulevard  St.  Michel  ran  all  green  and  gold  with 
gas-jets  already  lighted  in  lamps  and  restaurants 
and  the  scores  of  students'  cafes  which  line  the  main 
artery  of  the  "  Quartier  Latin." 

"  I  wish,"  said  Alida,  "  that  it  were  perfectly 
proper  for  us  to  walk  along  those  terraces." 

Captain  de  Barsac  appeared  extremely  doubtful, 
but  entirely  at  our  disposal. 

"  You  know  what  our  students  are,  monsieur,"  he 
said,  twisting  his  short  blond  moustache  ;  "however — 
if  monsieur  wishes ?  " 

So,  with  my  daughters  in  the  centre,  and  Captain 
de  Barsac  and  myself  thrown  out  in  strong  flanking 
parties,  we  began  our  march. 

The  famous  cafes  of  the  Latin  Quarter  were  all 
ablaze  with  electricity  and  gas  and  colored  incan 
descent  globes.  On  the  terraces  hundreds  of  tables 
and  chairs  stood,  occupied  by  students  in  every  im 
aginable  civilian  costume,  although  the  straight- 
brimmed  stovepipe  and  the  beret  appeared  to  be  the 
favorite  headgear.  At  least  a  third  of  the  throng 
was  made  up  of  military  students  from  the  Poly 
technic,  from  Fontainebleau,  and  from  Saint-Cyr. 
Set  in  the  crowded  terraces  like  bunches  of  blossoms 
were  chattering  groups  of  girls — bright-eyed,  viva 
cious,  beribboned  and  befrilled  young  persons,  sip 
ping  the  petit-verre  or  Amer-Picon,  gossiping,  bab- 

91 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

bling,  laughing  like  dainty  exotic  birds.  To  and  fro 
sped  the  bald-headed,  white-aproned  waiters,  bal 
ancing  trays  full  of  glasses  brimming  with  red  and 
blue  and  amber  liquids. 

Here  was  the  Cafe  d'Harcourt,  all  a-glitter,  with 
music  playing  somewhere  inside — the  favorite  resort 
of  the  medical  students  from  the  Sorbonne,  accord 
ing  to  Captain  de  Barsac.  Here  was  the  Cafe  de  la 
Source,  with  its  cascade  of  falling  water  and  its  min 
iature  mill-wheel  turning  under  a  crimson  glow  of 
light ;  here  was  the  famous  Cafe  Vachette,  celebrated 
as  the  centre  of  all  Latin  Quarter  mischief ;  and,  op 
posite  to  it,  blazed  the  lights  of  the  "  CAFE  DES 
BLEAUS,"  so  called  because  haunted  almost  exclu 
sively  by  artillery  officers  from  the  great  school  of 
Fontainebleau. 

Up  the  boulevard  and  down  the  boulevard  moved 
the  big  double-decked  tram-cars,  horns  sounding 
incessantly ;  cabs  dashed  up  to  the  cafes,  deposited 
their  loads  of  students  or  pretty  women,  then 
darted  away  toward  the  river,  their  lamps  shining 
like  stars. 

It  was  truly  a  fairy  scene,  with  the  electric  lights 
playing  on  the  foliage  of  the  trees,  turning  the  warm 
tender  green  of  the  chestnut  leaves  to  a  wonderful 
pale  bluish  tint,  and  etching  the  pavements  under 
foot  with  exquisite  Chinese  shadows. 

92 


Biter,  Bitten,  and  Un-bitten 


"  It  is  a  shame  that  this  lovely  scene  should  not 
be  entirely  respectable,"  said  Alida,  resentfully. 

"  Vice,"  murmured  de  Barsac  to  me,  "  could  not 
exist  unless  it  were  made  attractive." 

As  far  as  the  surface  of  the  life  before  us  was  con 
cerned,  there  was  nothing  visible  to  shock  anybody ; 
and,  under  escort,  there  is  no  earthly  reason  why 
decent  women  of  any  age  should  not  enjoy  the  spec 
tacle  of  the  "  BOUL  '  MICH."  on  a  night  in  spring 
time. 

An  innocent  woman,  married  or  unmarried,  ought 
not  to  detect  anything  unpleasant  in  the  St.  Michel 
district ;  but,  alas !  what  is  known  as  "  Smart  So 
ciety  "  is  so  preternaturally  wise  in  these  piping  times 
o'  wisdom,  that  the  child  is  not  only  truly  the  father 
of  the  man,  but  also  his  instructor  and  interpreter — • 
to  that  same  man's  astonishment  and  horror.  It  may 
always  have  been  so — even  before  the  days  when  our 
theatres  were  first  licensed  to  instruct  our  children  in 
object  lessons  of  the  seven  deadly  sins — but  I  cannot 
recollect  the  time  when,  as  a  youngster,  I  was  toler 
antly  familiar  with  the  scenes  now  nightly  offered  to 
our  children  through  the  courtesy  of  our  New  York 
theatre  managers. 

Slowly  we  turned  to  retrace  our  steps,  strolling  up 
the  boulevard  through  the  fragrant  May  evening, 
until  we  came  to  the  gilded  railing  which  encircles  the 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

Luxembourg  Gardens  from  the  School  of  Mines  to 
the  Palais-du-Senat. 

Here  Captain  De  Barsac  took  leave  of  us  with  all 
the  delightful  and  engaging  courtesy  of  a  well-bred 
Frenchman ;  and  he  seemed  to  be  grateful  for  the 
privilege  of  showing  us  about  over  a  district  as  tire- 
somely  familiar  to  him  as  his  own  barracks. 

I  could  do  no  less  than  ask  him  to  call  on  us, 
though  his  devotion  to  Dulcima  both  on  shipboard 
and  here  made  me  a  trifle  wary. 

"  We  are  stopping,"  said  I,  "  at  the  Hotel  de 
PUnivers " 

He  started  and  gazed  at  me  so  earnestly  that  I 
asked  him  why  he  did  so. 

"  The— the  Hotel  de  1'Univers?  "  he  repeated,  look 
ing  from  me  to  Dulcima  and  from  Dulcima  to  Alida. 

"Is  it  not  respectable?"  I  demanded,  somewhat 
alarmed.  . 

"  — But — but  perfectly,  monsieur.  It  is,  of  course, 
the  very  best  hotel  of  that  kind " 

"  What  kind?"  I  asked. 

"  Why — for  the  purpose.  Ah,  monsieur,  I  had  no 
idea  that  you  came  to  Paris  for  that.  I  am  so 
sorry,  so  deeply  grieved  to  hear  it.  But  of  course 
all  will  be  well " 

He  stopped  and  gazed  earnestly  at  Dulcima. 

"It  is  not — not  you,  mademoiselle,  is  it?" 
94 


Biter,  Bitten,  and  Un-bitten 


My  children  and  I  stared  at  each  other  in  conster 
nation. 

"  What  in  heaven's  name  is  the  matter  with  that 
hotel?  "I  asked. 

Captain  de  Barsac  looked  startled. 

"  Is  there  anything  wrong  with  the  guests  there  ?  " 
asked  Dulcima,  faintly. 

"  No — oh,  no — only,  of  course,  they  are  all  under 
treatment " 

"  Under  treatment !  "  I  cried  nervously.  "  For 
what !  !  !  " 

"  Is  it  possible,"  muttered  the  captain,  "that  you 
went  to  that  hotel  not  knowing?  Did  you  not  notice 
anything  peculiar  about  the  guests  there?  " 

"  They  all  seem  to  wear  court-plaster  or  carry  their 
arms  in  slings,"  faltered  Dulcima. 

"And  they  come  from  all  over  the  world — Rus 
sia,  Belgium,  Spain,"  murmured  Alida  nervously. 
"What  do  they  want?" 

"  Thank  heaven !  "  cried  De  Barsac,  radiantly ; 
"  then  you  are  not  there  for  the  treatment !  " 

"  Treatment  for  what?  "  I  groaned. 

"  Hydrophobia !  " 

I  wound  my  arms  around  my  shrinking  children. 

"  It  is  the  hotel  where  all  the  best  people  go  who 
come  to  Paris  for  Pasteur's  treatment,"  he  said,  try 
ing  to  look  grave ;  but  Dulcima  threw  back  her  pretty 

95 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

head  and  burst  into  an  uncontrollable  gale  of  laugh 
ter  ;  and  there  we  stood  on  the  sidewalk,  laughing  and 
laughing  while  passing  students  grinned  in  sympathy 
and  a  cloaked  policeman  on  the  corner  smiled  dis 
creetly  and  rubbed  his  chin. 

That  evening,  after  my  progeny  were  safely  asleep, 
casting  a  furtive  glance  around  me  I  slunk  off  to  my 
old  cafe — the  Cafe  Jaune.  I  hadn't  been  there  in 
over  twenty  years ;  I  passed  among  crowded  tables, 
skulked  through  the  entrance,  and  slid  into  my  old 
corner  as  though  I  had  never  missed  an  evening  there. 

They  brought  me  a  Bock.  As  I  lifted  the  icy 
glass  to  my  lips,  over  the  foam  I  beheld  Williams, 
smiling. 

"  Eh  bien,  mon  vieux?  "  he  said,  pleasantly. 

"  By  gad,  Williams,  this  seems  natural — especially 
with  you  sitting  next." 

"  It  sure  does,"  he  said. 

I  pointed  toward  a  leather  settee.  "  Archie  used 
to  sit  over  there  with  his  best  girl.  Do  you  remem 
ber?  And  that  was  Dillon's  seat — and  Smithy  and 
Palmyre — Oh,  Lord ! — And  Seabury  always  had  that 
other  corner."  ...  I  paused,  lost  in  happy  reminis 
cences.  "What  has  become  of  Jack  Seabury?"  I 
inquired. 

"  The  usual." 

"  Married?  " 

96 


'Biter,  JZitten,  and  Un-bitten 


"  Oh,  very  much." 

"  Where  does  he  live." 

"  In  Philadelphia." 

I  mused  for  a  while. 

"  So  he's  married,  too,"  I  said,  thoughtfully. 
"  Well — it's  a  funny  life,  isn't  it,  Williams." 

"  I've  never  seen  a  funnier.  Seabury's  marriage 
was  funny  too — I  mean  his  courtship." 

I  looked  up  at  Williams,  suspiciously. 

"  Is  this  one  of  your  professional  literary  stories  ?  " 

"  It's  a  true  one.  What's  the  harm  in  my  envelop 
ing  it  in  a  professional  glamour  ?  " 

"  None,"  I  said,  resignedly ;  "  go  ahead." 

"All  right,  mon  vieux." 


CHAPTER    VIII 

A    MATTER    OF    PRONUNCIATION 

THIS  is  a  story  of  the  Mystic  Three — Fate, 
Chance,  and  Destiny ;  and  what  happens  to 
people  who  trifle  with  them. 

It  begins  with  a  young  man  running  after  a  train. 
He  had  to  run. 

The  connection  at  Westport  Junction  was  nor 
mally  a  close  one,  but  now,  even  before  the  incoming 
train  had  entirely  stopped,  the  local  on  the  other  line 
began  to  move  out,  while  the  engineers  of  the  two 
locomotives,  leaning  from  their  cab  windows,  ex 
changed  sooty  grins.  It  was  none  of  their  business 
— this  squabble  between  the  two  roads  which  was 

98 


A  Matter  of  Pronunciation 


making  the  term,  "  Junction,"  as  applied  to  West- 
port,  a  snare  and  a  derision. 

So  the  roads  squabbled,  and  young  Seabury  ran. 
Other  passengers  ran,  too,  amid  the  gibes  of  news 
boys  and  the  patronizing  applause  of  station 
loafers. 

He  heard  them;  he  also  heard  squeaks  emitted  by 
females  whose  highest  speed  was  a  dignified  and  scut- 
tering  waddle.  Meanwhile  he  was  running,  and  run 
ning  hard  through  the  falling  snow;  the  ice  under 
foot  did  not  aid  him;  his  overcoat  and  suit-case 
handicapped  him ;  the  passengers  on  the  moving  train 
smiled  at  him  behind  frosty  windows. 

One  very  thin  man  smoking  a  cigar  rubbed  his 
thumb  on  the  pane  in  order  to  see  better;  he  was 
laughing,  and  Seabury  wished  him  evil. 

There  were  only  two  cars,  and  the  last  one  was 
already  rolling  by  him.  And  at  one  of  the  windows 
of  this  car  he  saw  a  pretty  girl  in  chinchilla  furs 
watching  him  curiously.  Then  she  also  smiled. 

It  may  have  been  the  frank  amusement  of  a  pretty 
woman,  and  it  may  have  been  the  sorrowful  apathy 
of  a  red-nosed  brakeman  tying  the  loose  end  of  the 
signal  rope  on  the  rear  platform;  doubtless  one  or 
the  other  spurred  him  to  a  desperate  flying  leap 
which  landed  him  and  his  suit-case  on  the  rear  plat 
form  of  the  last  car.  And  there  he  stuck,  too  mad 

99 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

to  speak,  until  a  whirlwind  of  snow  and  cinders  drove 
him  to  shelter  inside. 

The  choice  of  cars  was  limited  to  a  combination 
baggage  and  smoker  and  a  more  fragrant  passenger 
coach.  He  selected  a  place  in  the  latter  across  the 
aisle  from  the  attractive  girl  in  chinchilla  furs  who 
had  smiled  at  his  misfortunes — not  very  maliciously. 
Now,  as  he  seated  himself,  she  glanced  up  at  him 
without  the  slightest  visible  interest,  and  returned  to 
her  study  of  the  winter  landscape. 

The  car  was  hot;  he  was  hot.  Burning  thoughts 
concerning  the  insolence  of  railroads  made  him  hot 
ter;  the  knowledge  that  he  had  furnished  amuse 
ment  for  the  passengers  of  two  trains  did  not  cool 
him. 

Meanwhile  everybody  in  the  car  had  become  tired 
of  staring  at  him ;  a  little  boy  across  the  aisle  gig 
gled  his  last  giggle ;  several  men  resumed  their  news 
papers ;  a  shopgirl  remembered  her  gum  and  began 
chewing  it  again. 

A  large  mottled  man  with  a  damp  moustache,  seated 
opposite  him,  said :  "  Veil,  Mister,  you  runned  pooty 
quvick  alretty  py  dot  Vestport  train !  " 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  observed  Seabury,  touching  his 
heated  face  with  his  handkerchief,  "  that  the  public 
ought  to  do  something." 

"  Yaw ;  der  bublic  it  runs,"  said  the  large  man, 
100 


A  Matter  of  Pronunciation 


resuming  his  eyeglasses  and  he/jdmg  ft 
nearer  to  the  window  in  the  fading  light. 

Seabury  smiled  to  himself  and  ventured  to  glance 
across  the  aisle  in  time  to  see  the  dawning  smile  in 
the  blue  eyes  of  his  neighbor  die  out  instantly  as  he 
turned.  It  was  the  second  smile  he  had  extinguished 
since  his  appearance  aboard  the  train. 

The  conductor,  a  fat,  unbuttoned,  untidy  official, 
wearing  spectacles  and  a  walrus  moustache,  came 
straddling  down  the  aisle.  He  looked  over  the  tops 
of  his  spectacles  at  Seabury  doubtfully. 

"  I  managed  to  jump  aboard,"  explained  the  young 
man,  smiling. 

"  Tickuts ! "  returned  the  conductor  without  in 
terest. 

"  I  haven't  a  ticket ;  I'll  pay " 

"  Sure,"  said  the  conductor ;  "  vere  you  ged 
owid?" 

"What?" 

"  Vere  do  you  ged  owid?  " 

"  Oh,  where  do  I  get  out?  I'm  going  to  Bev 
erly " 

' '  Peverly  ?     S  e  f  en  ty-vi ve  cen  d  s . " 

"  Not  to  Peverly,  to  Beverly " 

"  Yaw,  Peverly " 

"  No,  no ;  Beverly  !  not  Peverly " 

"  Aind  I  said  Peverly  alretty  ?     Sef enty-vive " 

101 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 


hert  ;  therms  a  Beverly  and  a  Peverly  on 
this  line,  and  I  don't  want  to  go  to  Peverly  and  I 
do  want  to  go  to  Beverly  -  " 

"  You  go  py  Peverly  und  you  don'd  go  py  Bev 
erly  alretty  !  Sure  !  Sefenty-vive  ce  -  " 

The  young  man  cast  an  exasperated  glance  across 
the  aisle  in  time  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  two  deliciously 
blue  eyes  suffused  with  mirth.  And  instantly,  as 
before,  the  mirth  died  out.  As  an  extinguisher  of 
smiles  he  was  a  success,  anyway  ;  and  he  turned  again 
to  the  placid  conductor  who  was  in  the  act  of  punch 
ing  a  ticket. 

"  Wait  !  Hold  on  !  Don't  'do  that  until  I  get  this 
matter  straight!  Now,  do  you  understand  where  I 
wish  to  go  ?  " 

"  You  go  py  Peverly  -  " 

"  No,  Beverly  !  .Beverly  !  Beverly"  he  repeated 
in  patiently  studied  accents. 

The  large  mottled  man  with  the  damp  moustache 
looked  up  gravely  over  his  newspaper  :  "  Yaw,  der 
gonductor  he  also  says  Peverly." 

"  But  Peverly  isn't  Beverly  --  " 

"  Aind  I  said  it  blenty  enough  dimes  ?  "  demanded 
the  conductor,  becoming  irritable. 

"  But  you  haven't  said  it  right  yet  !  "  insisted  Sea- 
bury. 

The  conductor  was  growing  madder  and  madder. 
102 


A  Matter  of  Pronunciation 


"Peverly!  Peverly!!  Peverly!!!  In  Gottes  Him- 
mel,  don'd  you  English  yet  alretty  understandt? 
Sefenty-vive  cends!  Und  " — here  he  jammed  a  seat 
check  into  the  rattling  windows-sill — "  Und  ven  I  sez 
Peverly  it  iss  Peverly,  und  ven  I  sez  Beverly  it  iss 
Beverly,  und  ven  I  sez  sefenty-vive  cends  so  iss  it 

sefenty-vi " 

Seabury  thrust  three  silver  quarters  at  him ;  it  was 
impossible  to  pursue  the  subject;  madness  lay  in  that 
direction.  And  when  the  affronted  conductor,  mum 
bling  muffled  indignation,  had  straddled  off  down  the 
aisle,  the  young  man  took  a  cautious  glance  at  the 
check  in  the  window-sill.  But  on  it  was  printed  only, 
"  Please  show  this  to  the  conductor,"  so  he  got  no 
satisfaction  there.  He  had  mislaid  his  time-table, 
too,  and  the  large  mottled  man  opposite  had  none, 
and  began  an  endless  and  patient  explanation  which 
naturally  resulted  in  nothing,  as  his  labials  were  sim 
ilar  to  the  conductor's;  even  more  so. 


CHAPTER    IX 


FATE 


TURNING  to  the  man  behind  him  Seabury  at 
tempted  to  extract  a  little  information,  and 
the  man  was  very  affable  and  anxious  to  be 
of  help,  but  all  he  could  do  was  to  nod  and  utter 
Teutonic  gutturals  through   a  bushy  beard  with   a 
deep,  buzzing  sound,  and  Seabury  sank  back,  beaten 
and  dejected. 

"  Good  Lord !  "  he  muttered  to  himself,  "  is  the  en 
tire  Fatherland  travelling  on  this  accursed  car !  I — 

I've  half  a  mind " 

He  stole  a  doubtful  sidelong  glance  at  his  blue- 
eyed  neighbor  across  the  aisle,  but  she  was  looking 
out  of  her  own  window  this  time,  her  cheeks  buried 
in  the  fur  of  her  chinchilla  muff . 

104 


Fate 

"  And  after  all,"  he  reflected,  "  if  I  ask  her,  she 
might  turn  out  to  be  of  the  same  nationality."  But 
it  was  not  exactly  that  which  prevented  him. 

The  train  was  slowing  down ;  sundry  hoarse  toots 
from  the  locomotive  indicated  a  station  somewhere 
in  the  vicinity. 

"  Plue  Pirt  Lake !  Change  heraus  fur  Bleasant 
Falley !  "  shouted  the  conductor,  opening  the  forward 
door.  He  lingered  long  enough  to  glare  balefully 
at  Seabury,  then,  as  nobody  apparently  cared  either 
to  get  out  at  Blue  Bird  Lake  or  change  for  Pleasant 
Valley,  he  slammed  the  door  and  jerked  the  signal 
rope;  the  locomotive  emitted  a  scornful  Teutonic 
grunt;  the  train  moved  forward  into  the  deepening 
twilight  of  the  December  night. 

The  snow  was  now  falling  more  heavily — it  was 
light  enough  to  see  that — a  fine  gray  powder  sifting 
down  out  of  obscurity,  blowing  past  the  windows  in 
misty  streamers. 

The  bulky  man  opposite  breathed  on  the  pane, 
rubbed  it  with  a  thumb  like  a  pincushion,  and  peered 
out. 

"  Der  next  station  iss  Beverly,"  he  said. 

"  The  next  is  Peverly?  " 

"  No,  der  next  iss  Beverly ;  und  der  nextest  iss 
Peverly. 

"  Then,  if  I  am  going  to  Beverly,  I  get  out  at  the 
105 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

next    station,    don't    I? "    stammered    the   perplexed 
young  fellow,  trying  to  be  polite. 

The  man  became  peevish.  "  Nun,  wass  ist  es  ?  "  he 
growled.  "  I  dell  you  Peverly  und  you  say  Beverly. 
Don'd  I  know  vat  it  iss  I  say  alretty  ?  " 

«  Yes— but  /  don't " 

"  Also,  you  ged  owid  vere  you  tarn  blease !  "  re 
torted  the  incensed  passenger,  and  resumed  his  news 
paper,  hunching  himself  around  to  present  nothing 
to  Seabury  except  a  vast  expanse  of  neck  and 
shoulder. 

Seabury,  painfully  embarrassed,  let  it  go  at  that. 
Probably  the  poor  man  had  managed  to  enunciate 
the  name  of  the  station  properly ;  no  doubt  the  next 
stop  was  Beverly,  after  all.  He  was  due  there  at 
6.17.  He  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  a  quarter  past 
six  already.  The  next  stop  must  be  Beverly — sup 
posing  the  train  to  be  on  time. 

And  already  the  guttural  warning  of  the  locomo 
tive  sounded  from  the  darkness  ahead;  already  he 
sensed  the  gritting  resistance  of  the  brakes. 

Permitting  himself  a  farewell  and  perfectly  in 
offensive  glance  across  the  aisle,  he  perceived  her  of 
the  blue  eyes  and  chinchilla  furs  preparing  for  de 
parture;  and,  what  he  had  not  before  noticed,  her 
maid  in  the  seat  behind  her,  gathering  a  dainty 
satchel,  umbrella,  and  suit-case  marked  C.  G. 

106 


Fate 

So  she  was  going  to  Beverly,  too !  He  hoped  she 
might  be  bound  for  the  Christmas  Eve  frolic  at 
the  Austins'.  It  was  perfectly  possible — in  fact, 
probable. 

He  was  a  young  man  whose  optimism  colored 
his  personal  wishes  so  vividly  that  sometimes  what 
he  desired  became  presently,  in  his  imagination, 
a  charming  and  delightful  probability.  And  al 
ready  his  misgivings  concerning  the  proper  name 
of  the  next  station  had  vanished.  He  wanted  Bev 
erly  to  be  the  next  station,  and  already  it  was, 
for  him.  Also,  he  had  quite  made  up  his  mind 
that  she  of  the  chinchillas  was  bound  for  the 
Austins'. 

A  cynical  blast  from  the  locomotive ;  a  j  erking  pull 
of  brakes,  and,  from  the  forward  smoker,  entered  the 
fat  conductor. 

"  Beverly !     Beverly !  "  he  shouted. 

So  he,  too,  had  managed  to  master  his  P's  and  B's, 
concluded  the  young  man,  smiling  to  himself  as  he 
rose,  invested  himself  with  his  heavy  coat,  and  picked 
up  his  suit-case. 

The  young  lady  of  the  chinchillas  had  already  left 
the  car,  followed  by  her  maid,  before  he  stepped  into 
the  aisle  ready  for  departure. 

A  shadow  of  misgiving  fell  upon  him  when,  glanc 
ing  politely  at  his  fellow-passenger,  he  encountered 

107 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

only  a  huge  sneer,  and  concluded  that  the  nod  of 
courtesy  was  superfluous. 

Also  he  hesitated  as  he  passed  the  fat  conductor, 
who  was  glaring  at  him,  mouth  agape — hesitated  a 
moment  only,  then,  realizing  the  dreadful  possibil 
ities  of  reopening  the  subject,  swallowed  his  question 
in  silence. 

"  It's  got  to  be  Beverly,  now,"  he  thought,  making 
his  way  to  the  snowy  platform  and  looking  about 
him  for  some  sign  of  a  conveyance  which  might  be 
destined  for  him.  There  were  several  sleighs  and 
depot-wagons  there — a  number  of  footmen  bustling 
about  in  furs. 

"  I'll  just  glance  at  the  name  of  the  station  to  be 
sure,"  he  thought  to  himself,  peering  up  through  the 
thickly  descending  snow  where  the  name  of  the  sta 
tion  ought  to  be.  And,  as  he  stepped  out  to  get  a 
good  view,  he  backed  into  a  fur-robed  footman,  who 
touched  his  hat  in  hasty  apology. 

"  Oh,  Bailey !  Is  that  you  ?  "  said  Seabury,  re 
lieved  to  encounter  one  of  Mrs.  Austin's  men. 

"  Yes,  sir.  Mr.  Seabury,  sir !  Were  you  ex 
pected  -  —  ?" 

"  Certainly,"  nodded  the  young  man  gayly,  aban 
doning  his  suit-case  to  the  footman  and  following 
him  to  a  big  depot-sleigh. 

And  there,  sure  enough,  was  his  lady  of  the  chin- 
108 


Fate 

chillas,  nestling  under  the  robes  to  her  pretty  chin, 
and  her  maid  on  the  box  with  the  coachman — a 
strangely  fat  coachman — no  doubt  a  new  one  to  re 
place  old  Martin. 

When  Seabury  came  up  the  young  lady  turned  and 
looked  at  him,  and  he  took  off  his  hat  politely,  and 
she  acknowledged  his  presence  very  gravely  and  he 
seated  himself  decorously,  and  the  footman  swung  to 
the  rumble. 

Then  the  chiming  silver  sleigh-bells  rang  out 
through  the  snow,  the  magnificent  pair  of  plumed 
horses  swung  around  the  circle  under  the  bleared 
lights  of  the  station  and  away  they  speeded  into 
snowy  darkness. 

A  decent  interval  of  silence  elapsed  before  he  con 
sidered  himself  at  liberty  to  use  a  traveller's  privilege. 
Then  he  said  something  sufficiently  commonplace  to 
permit  her  the  choice  of  conversing  or  remaining  si 
lent.  She  hesitated;  she  had  never  been  particu 
larly  wedded  to  silence.  Besides,  she  was  scarcely 
twenty — much  too  young  to  be  wedded  to  any 
thing.  So  she  said  something,  with  perfect  com 
posure,  which  left  the  choice  to  him.  And  his  choice 
was  obvious. 

"I  have  no  idea  how  far  it  is;  have  you?"  he 
asked. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  coolly. 

109 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  This  is  a  jolly  sleigh,"  he  continued  with  un 
impaired  cheerfulness. 

She  thought  it  comfortable.  And  for  a  while  the 
conversation  clung  so  closely  around  the  sleigh  that 
it  might  have  been  run  over  had  not  he  dragged  it 
into  another  path. 

"  Isn't  it  amazing  how  indifferent  railroads  are  to 
the  convenience  of  their  passengers  ?  " 

She  turned  her  blue  eyes  on  him;  there  was  the 
faintest  glimmer  in  their  depths. 

"  I  know  you  saw  me  running  after  that  train,"  he 
said,  laughingly  attempting  to  break  the  ice. 

"  I  ?  " 

"  Certainly.     And  it  amused  you,  I  think." 

She  raised  her  eyebrows  a  trifle.  "  What  is  there 
amusing  about  that?  " 

"  But  you  did  smile — at  least  I  thought   so." 

Evidently  she  had  no  comment  to  offer.  She  was 
hard  to  talk  to.  But  he  tried  again. 

"  The  fact  is,  I  never  expected  to  catch  your — 
that  train.  It  was  only  when  I  saw — saw " — he 
floundered  on  the  verge  of  saying  "  you,"  but  veered 
off  hastily — "  when  I  saw  that  brakeman's  expression 
of  tired  contempt,  I  simply  sailed  through  the  air 
like  a — a — like  a — one  of  those — er  you  know " 

"  Do  you  mean  kangaroos  ?  "  she  ventured  so  list 
lessly  that  the  quick  flush  of  chagrin  on  his  face  died 

110 


Fate 

out  again ;  because  it  was  quite  impossible  that  such 
infantine  coldness  and  candour  could  be  secretly  tri 
fling  with  his  dignity. 

"  It  was  a  long  jump,"  he  concluded  gavely,  "  but 
I  did  some  jumping  at  Harvard  and  I  made  it  and 
managed  to  hold  on." 

"  You  were  very  fortunate,"  she  said,  smiling  for 
the  first  time. 

And,  looking  at  her,  he  thought  he  was ;  and  he 
admitted  it  so  blandly  that  he  overdid  the  part.  But 
he  didn't  know  that. 

"  I  fancy,"  he  continued,  "  that  everybody  on  that 
train  except  you  and  I  were  Germans.  Such  a  type 
as  sat  opposite  me ! 

"  Which  car  were  you  in  ?  "  she  asked  simply. 

"  Why — in  your  car " 

"  In  my  car  ?  " 

"  Why — er — yes,"  he  explained ;  "  you  were  sit 
ting  across  the  aisle,  you  know." 

"Was  I?"  she  asked  with  pleasant  surprise; 
"  across  the  aisle  from  you  ?  " 

He  grew  red;  he  had  certainly  supposed  that  she 
had  noticed  him  enough  to  identify  him  again.  Evi 
dently  she  had  not.  Mistakes  like  that  are  annoy 
ing.  Every  man  instinctively  supposes  himself 
enough  of  an  entity  to  be  noticed  by  a  pretty 
woman. 

Ill 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  I  had  no  end  of  trouble  of  finding  out  where 
Beverly  was,"  he  said  after  a  minute. 

"  Oh !    And  how  did  you  find  out?  " 

"  I  didn't  until  I  backed  into  Bailey,  yonder.  .  .  . 
Do  you  know  that  I  had  a  curious  sort  of  presenti 
ment  that  I  should  find  you  in  this  sleigh?  " 

"  That  is  strange,"  she  said.  "  When  did  you 
have  it?" 

"  In  the  car — long  before  you  got  off." 

She  thought  it  most  remarkable — rather  list 
lessly. 

"  Those  things  happen,  you  know,"  he  went  on ; 
"  like  thinking  of  a  person  you  don't  expect  to  see, 
and  looking  up  and  suddenly  seeing  that  very  person 
walking  along." 

"How  does  that  resemble  your  case?"  she 
asked. 

It  didn't.  He  realised  it  even  before  he  began  to 
try  to  explain  the  similarity.  It  really  didn't  mat 
ter  one  way  or  the  other ;  it  was  nothing  to  turn  red 
about,  but  he  was  turning.  Somehow  or  other  she 
managed  to  say  things  that  never  permitted  that 
easy,  graceful  flow  of  language  which  characterised 
him  in  his  normal  state.  Somehow  or  other,  he  felt 
that  he  was  not  doing  himself  justice.  He  could  con 
verse  well  enough  with  people  as  a  rule.  Something 
in  that  topsy-turvy  and  maddeningly  foolish  collo- 


Fate 

quy    with    those    Germans    must    have    twisted    his 
tongue  or  unbalanced  his  logic. 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact,"  he  said,  "  there's  no  simi 
larity  between  the  two  cases  except  the  basic  idea  of 
premonition." 

She  had  been  watching  him  disentangle  himself 
with  bright  eyes  in  which  something  was  sparkling — 
perhaps  sympathy  and  perhaps  not.  It  may  have 
been  the  glimmer  of  malice.  Perhaps  she  thought 
him  just  a  trifle  too  ornamental — for  he  certainly 
was  a  very  good-looking  youth — perhaps  something 
in  the  entire  episode  appealed  to  her  sense  of  mis 
chief.  Probably  even  she  herself  could  not  explain 
just  why  she  had  thought  it  funny  to  see  him  run 
ning  for  his  train,  and  later  entangling  himself  in  a 
futile  word-fest  with  the  conductor  and  the  large 
mottled  man. 

"  So,"  she  said  thoughtfully,  "  you  were  obsessed 
by  a  premonition." 

"  Not — er — exactly  obsessed,  he  said  suspiciously. 
Then  his  face  cleared.  How  could  anybody  be  sus 
picious  of  such  sweetly  inquiring  frankness  ?  "  You 
see,"  he  admitted,  "  that  I — well,  I  rather  hoped  you 
would  be  going  to  the  Austins'." 

"  The  Austins'!  "  she  repeated. 

"  Yes.     I — I  couldn't  help  speculating " 

"  About  me?  "  she  asked.     "  Why  should  you?  " 
9  113 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  I — there  was  no  reason,  of  course,  only  I  k-kept 
seeing  you  without  trying  to " 

"Me?" 

"  Certainly.    I  couldn't  help  seeing  you,  could  I  ?  " 

"  Not  if  you  were  looking  at  me,"  she  murmured, 
pressing  her  muff  to  her  face.  Perhaps  she  was  cold. 

Again  it  occurred  to  him  that  there  was  something 
foolish  in  her  reply.  Certainly  she  was  a  little  dif 
ficult  to  talk  to.  But  then  she  was  young — very 
young  and — close  enough  to  being  a  beauty  to  ex 
cuse  herself  from  any  overstrenuous  claim  to  intel 
lectuality. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  kindly  and  patiently,  "  I  did  see 
you,  and  I  did  hope  that  you  were  going  to  the  Aus 
tins'.  And  then  I  bumped  into  somebody  and  there 
you  were.  I  don't  mean,"  as  she  raised  her  pretty 
eyebrows — "  mean  that  you  were  Bailey.  Good  Lord, 
what  is  the  matter  with  my  tongue !  "  he  said,  flush 
ing  with  annoyance.  "  I  don't  talk  this  way  usually." 

"Don't  you?"  she  managed  to  whisper  behind 
her  muff. 

"  No,  I  don't.  That  conductor's  jargon  seems 
to  have  inoculated  me.  You  will  probably  not  be 
lieve  it,  but  I  can  talk  the  English  tongue  some 
times " 

She  was  laughing  now — a  clear,  delicious,  irre 
pressible  little  peal  that  rang  sweetly  in  the  frosty 


Fate 

air,  harmonising  with  the  chiming  sleigh-bells.  And 
he  laughed,  too,  still  uncomfortably  flushed. 

"  Do  you  think  it  would  help  if  we  began  all  over 
again  ?  "  she  asked,  looking  wickedly  at  him  over  her 
muff.  "  Let  me  see — you  had  an  obsession  which 
turned  into  a  premonition  that  bumped  Bailey  and 
you  found  it  wasn't  Bailey  at  all,  but  a  stranger  in 
chinchillas  who  was  going  to — where  did  you  say  she 
was  going?  Oh,  to  the  Austins'!  That  is  clear, 
isn't  it?" 

"  About  as  clear  as  anything  that's  happened  to 
me  to-night,"  he  said. 

"  A  snowy  night  does  make  a  difference,"  she  re 
flected. 

"A— a  difference?" 

"  Yes — doesn't  it  ?  "   she  asked  innocently. 

"  I— in  what ?  " 

"  In  clearness.     Things  are  clearer  by  daylight  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see — I — exactly  how — as  a  matter  of  fact 
I  don't  follow  you  at  all,"  he  said  desperately. 
"  You  say  things — and  they  sound  all  right — but 
somehow  my  answers  seem  queer.  Do  you  suppose 
that  German  conversation  has  mentally  twisted  me?  " 

Her  eyes  above  the  fluffy  fur  of  her  muff  were 
bright  as  stars,  but  she  did  not  laugh. 

"  Suppose,"  she  said,  demurely,  "  that  you  choose 
a  subject  of  conversation  and  try  to  make  sense  of 

115 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

it.  If  you  are  mentally  twisted  it  will  be  good 
practice." 

"  And  you  will — you  won't  say  things — I  mean 
things  not  germane  to  the  subject?  " 

"  Did  you  say  German  ?  " 

"  No,  germane." 

"  Oh!     Have  /  been  irrelevant,  too?  " 

"  Well,  you  mixed  up  mental  clarity  with  snowy 
nights.  Of  course  it  was  a  little  joke — I  saw  that 
soon  enough;  I'd  have  seen  it  at  once,  only  I  am 
rather  upset  and  nervous  after  that  German  experi 
ence." 


CHAPTER    X 

CHANCE 

SHE  considered  him  with  guileless  eyes.  He  was 
too  good-looking,  too  attractive,  too  young, 
and  far  too  much  pleased  with  himself.  That 
was  the  impression  he  gave  her.  And,  as  he  was,  in 
addition,  plainly  one  of  her  own  sort,  a  man  she  was 
likely  to  meet  anywhere — a  well-bred,  well-mannered 
and  agreeable  young  fellow,  probably  a  recent  under 
graduate,  which  might  account  for  his  really  inoffen 
sive  breeziness — she  felt  perfectly  at  ease  with  him 
and  safe  enough  to  continue  imprudently  her  mis 
chief. 

"  If  you  are  going  to  begin  at  the  beginning," 
she  said,  "  perhaps  it  might  steady  your  nerves  to 
repeat  your  own  name  very  slowly  and  distinctly. 
Physicians  recommend  it  sometimes,"  she  added  seri 
ously. 

"  My  name  is  John  Seabury,"  he  said,  laughing. 
"Am  I  lucid?" 

117 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  Lucid  so  far,"  she  said  gravely.  "  I  knew  a  Lily 
Seabury " 

"  My  sister.      She's  in  Paris." 

"  Yes,  I  knew  that,  too,"  mused  the  girl,  looking  at 
him  in  a  different  light — different  in  this  way  that 
his  credentials  were  now  unquestionable,  and  she 
could  be  as  mischievous  as  she  pleased  with  the  mini 
mum  of  imprudence. 

"  Do  you  ever  take  the  advice  of  physicians,"  he 
asked  naively,  "  about  repeating  names  ?  " 

"  Seldom,"  she  said.  "  I  don't  require  the  treat 
ment." 

"  I  was  only  wondering " 

"  You  were  wondering  what  C.  G.  stood  for  on  my 
satchel?  I  will  be  very  glad  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Sea- 
bury.  C  stands  for  Cecil,  and  G  for  Gay ;  Cecil  Gay. 
Is  that  lucid?" 

"  Cecil !  "  he  said ;  "  that's  a  man's  name." 

"  How  rude !  It  is  my  name.  Now,  do  you  think 
your  mental  calibre  requires  any  more  re-boring?  " 

"  Oh,  you  know  about  calibres  and  things.  Do 
you  shoot?  I  can  talk  about  dogs  and  guns.  Lis 
ten  to  me,  Miss  Gay."  The  subject  shifted  from 
shooting  to  fishing,  and  from  hunting  to  driving  four- 
in-hand,  and  eventually  came  back  to  the  horses  and 
the  quaint  depot-sleigh  which  was  whirling  them  so 
swiftly  toward  their  destination. 

118 


Chance 


"  Jack  Austin  and  I  were  in  Paris,"  he  observed. 

"Oh— recently?" 

"  Last  year." 

"  I  thought  so." 

"Why?"  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  it  was  one  of  those  obsessed  pre 
monitions " 

"  You  are  laughing  at  me,  Miss  Gay." 

"Ami?     Why?" 

"  Why  ?  How  on  earth  is  a  man  to  know  why  ? 
/  don't  know  why  you  do  it,  but  you  do — all  the 
time." 

"  Not  all  the  time,  Mr.  Seabury,  because  I  don't 
know  you  well  enough." 

"  But  you  know  my  sister !  " 

"  Yes.      She  is  a  dear." 

"Won't  that  introduce  me?  And,  besides,  you 
know  Jack  Austin " 

"  No,  I  don't." 

"Isn't  that  odd?"  he  said.  "You  don't  know 
Jack  Austin  and  I  don't  know  Mrs.  Austin.  It  was 
nice  of  her  to  ask  me.  They  say  she  is  one  of  the 
best  ever." 

"  It  was  certainly  nice  of  her  to  ask  you,"  said  the 
girl,  eyes  brightening  over  her  muff. 

"  I  was  in  Europe  when  they  were  married,"  he 
said.  "  I  suppose  you  were  there." 

119 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  No,  I  wasn't.  That  sounds  rather  strange, 
doesn't  it?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  rather !  "  he  replied,  looking  up  at  her 
in  his  boyish,  perplexed  way.  And  for  a  moment 
her  heart  failed  her;  he  was  nice,  but  also  he  was  a 
living  temptation.  Never  before  in  all  her  brief  life 
had  she  been  tempted  to  do  to  anybody  what  she  was 
doing  to  him.  She  had  often  been  imprudent  in  a 
circumspect  way — conventionally  unconventional  at 
times — even  a  little  daring.  At  sheer  audacity  she 
had  drawn  the  line,  and  now  the  impulse  to  cross  that 
line  had  been  too  much  for  her.  But  even  she  did 
not  know  exactly  why  temptation  had  overcome 
her. 

There  was  something  that  she  ought  to  tell  him — 
and  tell  him  at  once.  Yet,  after  all,  it  was  really 
already  too  late  to  tell  him — had  been  too  late  from 
the  first.  Fate,  Chance  and  Destiny,  the  Mystic 
Three,  disguised,  as  usual,  one  as  a  German  conduc 
tor  ;  one  as  a  large  mottled  man ;  the  other  as  a  furry 
footman  had  been  bumped  by  Seabury  and  jeered  at 
by  a  girl  wearing  dark  blue  eyes  and  chinchillas. 
And  now  the  affronted  Three  were  taking  exclusive 
charge  of  John  Seabury  and  Cecil  Gay.  She  was 
partly  aware  of  this ;  she  did  not  feel  inclined  to  in 
terfere  where  interference  could  do  no  good.  And 
that  being  the  case,  why  not  extract  amusement  from 

120 


Chance 


matters  as  they  stood?  Alas,  it  is  not  well  to  laugh 
at  the  Mystic  Three!  But  Cecil  Gay  didn't  know 
that.  You  see,  even  she  didn't  know  everything. 

"  You  will  like  Jack  Austin,"  he  asserted. 

"Really?" 

"  I'm  willing  to  bet " 

"  Oh,  wait  till  we  know  one  another  officially  be 
fore  we  begin  to  make  wagers.  .  .  .  Still,  I  might, 
perhaps  safely  wager  that  I  shall  not  find  your  friend 
Jack  Austin  very  agreeable  to-night." 

So  they  settled  the  terms  of  the  wager ;  cigarettes 
versus  the  inevitable  bonbons. 

"  Everybody  likes  Jack  Austin  on  sight,"  he  said 
triumphantly,  "  so  you  may  as  well  send  the  cigar 
ettes  when  you  are  ready ;"  and  he  mentioned  the 
brand. 

"  You  will  never  smoke  those  cigarettes,"  she  mused 
aloud,  looking  dreamily  at  him,  her  muff  pressed 
alongside  of  her  pretty  cheek.  "  Tell  me,  Mr.  Sea- 
bury,  are  you  vindictive  ?  " 

"  Not  very." 

"Revengeful?" 

"Well— no,  I  don't  think  so,"  he  replied. 
"Why?" 

"  I'm  much  relieved,"  she  said,  simply. 

"Why?" 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  Because  I've  done  a  dreadful  thing — perfectly 
dreadful." 

"Tome?" 

She  nodded. 

Perplexed  and  curious,  he  attempted  to  learn  what 
she  meant,  but  she  parried  everything  smiling.  And 
now,  the  faster  the  horses  sped,  the  faster  her  pulses 
beat,  and  the  more  uncertain  and  repentant  she  be 
came  until  her  uncertainty  increased  to  a  miniature 
panic,  and,  thoroughly  scared,  she  relapsed  into  a 
silence  from  which  he  found  it  beyond  his  powers 
to  lure  her. 

For  already  a  bright  light  was  streaming  out  to 
ward  them  from  somewhere  ahead.  In  its  rays  the 
falling  snow  turned  golden,  every  separate  flake  dis 
tinct  as  they  passed  a  great  gate  with  the  lodge  be 
side  it  and  went  spinning  away  along  a  splendid 
wooded  avenue  and  then  straight  up  toward  a  great 
house,  every  window  ablaze  with  light. 

John  Seabury  jumped  out  and  offered  his  aid  to 
Cecil  Gay  as  several  servants  appeared  under  the 
porte-cochere. 

"  I  had  no  idea  that  Jack  Austin  lived  so  splen 
didly,"  he  whispered  to  Miss  Gay,  as  they  entered  the 
big  hall. 

But  she  was  past  speech  now — a  thoroughly  scared 
girl;  and  she  lost  no  time  in  following  a  maid  into 

138 


Chance 


the  elevator,  whither  Seabury  presently  followed  her 
in  tow  of  a  man-servant. 

"  Luxury !  Great  Scott,"  thought  Seabury. 
"  This  dubbing  a  palace  a  cottage  is  the  worse  sort 
of  affectation,  and  I'll  tell  Jack  Austin  so,  too." 
The  elevator  stopped;  the  doors  clicked  open;  Sea- 
bury  turned  smilingly  to  Cecil  Gay,  but  she  hurried 
past  him,  crimson-cheeked,  head  bent,  and  he  followed 
his  pilot  to  his  room. 

"  Dinner  is  hannounced  at  'awf  awfter  height,  sir," 
announced  the  man  with  dignity. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Seabury,  watching  a  valet  do 
sleight-of-hand  tricks  with  the  contents  of  his  suit 
case.  And  when  he  was  alone  he  hopped  nimbly  out 
of  his  apparel  and  into  a  bath  and  out  again  in  a 
high  state  of  excitement,  talking  to  himself  £.11  the 
while  he  was  dressing. 

"  Good  old  Jack !  The  Mrs.  must  have  had  the 
means  to  do  this  sort  of  thing  so  well.  I'm  delighted ! 
— de — lighted !  .  .  .If  ever  a  man  deserved  affluence, 
it's  Jack  Austin !  It  suits  him.  It  will  do  him 
good.  It  becomes  him.  .  .  .  Plucky  fellow  to  go 
on  grinding  at  the  law !  .  .  .  Only  thing  to  do, 
of  course — decent  thing  to  do — self-respect  and  all 
that.  .  .  .  But,  by  jingo!" — he  looked  about  him 
as  he  stood  buttoning  his  collar.  "  Hah !  "  step 
ping  to  the  wall  and  examining  a  picture — 

123 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  Great  Jenkins  ! — why,  here's  a  real  Fortuny — in  a 
bedroom!  " 

He  cared  for  good  pictures,  and  he  stood  before 
the  exquisite  aquarelle  as  long  as  he  dared.  Then, 
glancing  at  his  watch,  he  completed  his  toilet,  opened 
his  door,  and,  scorning  the  lift,  fled  blithely  down  the 
great  staircase  on  pleasing  bent — and  on  being 
pleased. 

A  big  drawing-room,  charmingly  lighted,  and  gay 
already  with  the  chatter  and  laughter  of  a  very  jolly 
throng — this  is  what  confronted  him  as  a  servant 
offered  him  a  tray  containing  cards. 

"  I  don't  see  my  name  here,"  he  said,  examining 
the  slim  envelopes. 

"Beg  pardon,  sir — what  name,  sir?" 

"Mr.   Seabury." 

The  servant  looked  and  Seabury  looked  in  vain. 

"  An  oversight,"  commented  the  young  fellow, 
coolly.  "  I'll  ask  Mrs.  Austin  about  it."  And  he 
walked  in,  and,  singling  out  the  hostess,  advanced 
with  smiling  confidence,  thinking  to  himself:  "  She  is 
pretty ;  Jack's  right.  But — but,  by  George ! — she 
looks  like  Cecil  Gay !  " 

His  hostess  received  him  very  charmingly,  saying 
that  it  was  so  good  of  him  to  come;  and  he  said  it 
was  so  good  of  her  to  have  asked  him,  and  then  they 
said  several  similar  things.  He  spoke  of  Jack — men- 


Chance 


tioning  him  and  continuing  to  another  subject;  and 
she  smiled  a  trifle  uncertainly.  Her  smile  was  still 
more  vague  and  uncertain  when  he  laughingly  men 
tioned  the  dinner-cards ;  and  she  said  it  was  a  vexing 
oversight  and  would  be  immediately  arranged — 
glancing  rather  sharply  at  an  amiable  gentleman 
standing  near  her.  And  this  amiable  gentleman 
came  up  to  Seabury  and  shook  hands  very  cordially, 
and  said  several  agreeable  things  to  which  Seabury  re 
sponded,  until  new  arrivals  separated  him  from  his 
hostess  and  the  amiable  gentleman,  and  he  fell  back 
and  glanced  about  him.  And,  after  a  little  while  an 
odd  expression  came  into  his  eyes  ;  he  stood  very  still ; 
a  slight  dush  slowly  spread  over  his  face  which  had 
grown  firmer.  In  a  few  moments  the  color  went  as 
it  had  come,  slowly ;  the  faint  glitter  died  out  in  his 
eyes. 

There  were  several  people  he  knew  among  the 
guests ;  he  nodded  quietly  to  young  Van  Guilder,  to 
Brimwell  and  others,  then  crossed  to  speak  to  Cath 
erine  Hyland  and  Dorothy  Minster.  He  was  very 
agreeable,  but  a  little  distrait.  He  seemed  to  have 
something  on  his  mind. 

Meanwhile  his  hostess  was  saying  to  her  husband: 
"  Who  is  that,  Jim?  "  And  her  husband  said :  "  You 
can  search  me.  Didn't  you  ask  him?  "  And  his  wife 
responded :  "  He's  talking  to  nearly  everybody.  It's 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

curious,  isn't  it?"  Here  she  was .  interrupted  by 
the  flushed  entrance  of  her  unmarried  sister,  Cecil 
Gay. 

Meanwhile,  Seabury  was  saying  coolly :  "  I  haven't 
seen  Jack  yet." 

"Jack?"  repeated  Dorothy  Minster.  "Which 
Jack?" 

"  Jack  Austin." 

"  Oh,"  said  Miss  Minster,  who  did  not  know  him ; 
"is  he  to  be  here?" 

But  Seabury  only  smiled  vaguely.  His  mind,  his 
eyes,  his  attention  were  fixed  upon  a  vision  of  loveli 
ness  in  the  foreground — a  charmingly  flushed  young 
girl  who  knew  everybody  and  was  evidently  a  tremen 
dous  favorite,  judging  from  the  gay  greetings,  the 
little  volleys  of  laughter,  and  the  animated  stirring 
of  groups  among  which  she  passed. 

Watching  her,  quite  oblivious  to  his  surroundings, 
the  servant  at  his  elbow  was  obliged  to  cough  dis 
creetly  half  a  dozen  times  and  repeat  "  Beg  pardon, 
sir,"  before  he  turned  to  notice  the  silver  salver 
extended. 

"  Oh — thank  you,"  he  said,  picking  up  an  envelope 
directed,  "  Mr.  Seabury,"  and  opening  it.  Then  a 
trifle  surprised  but  smiling,  he  turned  to  find  the  girl 
whose  name  was  written  on  the  card.  She  was  speak 
ing  to  the  hostess  and  the  amiable  man  who  had  first 

126 


Chance 


greeted  him.  And  this  is  what  he  didn't  hear  as  he 
watched  her,  waiting  grimly  for  a  chance  at  her : 

"  Cecil !      Who  is  that  very  young  man  ?  " 

"  Betty,  how  should  /  know " 

"  Look  here,  Cis,"  from  the  amiable  gentleman ; 
"  this  is  some  of  your  deviltry " 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  Jim !  " 

"  Yes,  it  is.  Who  is  he  and  where  did  you  rope 
him?" 

"Jim!" 

"  Cecil !  What  nonsense  is  this  ?  "  demanded  her 
hostess  and  elder  sister.  "  How  did  he  get  here  and 
who  is  he  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  bring  him,  Betty.     He  simply  came?  " 

"How?" 

"  In  the  depot-sleigh,  of  course " 

"  With  you?  " 

"  Certainly.  He  wanted  to  come.  He  would 
come!  I  couldn't  turn  him  out,  could  I — after  he 
climbed  in  ?  " 

Host  and  hostess  glared  at  their  flushed  and  de 
fiant  relative,  who  tried  to  look  saucy,  but  only 
looked  scared.  "He  doesn't  know  he's  made  a  mis 
take,"  she  faltered ;  "  and  there's  no  need  to  tell  him 
yet — is  there?  ...  I  put  my  name  down  on  his  card; 
he'll  take  me  in.  ...  Jim,  don't,  for  Heaven's  sake, 
say  anything  if  he  calls  Betty  Mrs.  Austin.  Oh,  Jim, 

127 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

be  decent,  please !  I  was  a  fool  to  do  it ;  I  don't  know 
what  possessed  me !  Walt  until  to-morrow  before 
you  say  anything!  Besides,  he  may  be  furious  1 
Please  wait  until  I'm  out  of  the  house.  He'll  break 
fast  late,  I  hope ;  and  I  promise  you  I'll  be  up  early 
and  off  by  the  seven  o'clock  train " 

"  In  Heaven's  name,  who  is  he?  "  broke  in  the  ami 
able  man  so  fiercely  that  Cecil  jumped. 

"  He's  only  Lily  Seabury's  brother,"  she  said, 
meekly,  "  and  he  thinks  he's  at  the  Austins' — and  he 
might  as  well  be,  because  he  knows  half  the  people 
here,  and  I've  simply  got  to  keep  him  out  of  their  way 
so  that  nobody  can  tell  him  where  he  is.  Oh,  Betty 
— I've  spoiled  my  own  Christmas  fun,  and  his,  too! 
Is  there  any  way  to  get  him  to  the  Austins'  now  ?" 

"  The  Jack  Austins'  of  Beverly !  "  exclaimed  her 
sister,  incredulously.  "  Of  course  not !  " 

"  And  you  let  him  think  he  was  on  his  way  there  ?  " 
demanded  her  brother-in-law.  "  Well — you — are — 
the— limit ! " 

"  So  is  lie"  murmured  the  abashed  maid,  slinking 
back  to  give  place  to  a  new  and  last  arrival.  Then 
she  turned  her  guilty  face  in  a  sort  of  panic  of  pre 
monition.  She  was  a  true  prophetess ;  Seabury  had 
seen  his  chance  and  was  coming.  And  that's  what 
comes  of  mocking  the  Mystic  Three  and  cutting 
capers  before  High  Heaven. 

128 


CHAPTER    XI 

DESTINY 

HE  had  taken  her  in  and  was  apparently  climb 
ing  rapidly  through  the  seven  Heavens  of 
rapture — having  arrived  as  far  as  the  third 
unchecked  and  without  mishap.     It  is  not  probable 
that  she  kept  pace  with  him :  she  had  other  things  to 
think  of. 

Dinner  was  served  at  small  tables ;  and  it  required 
all  her  will,  all  her  limited  experience,  every  atom  of 
her  intelligence,  to  keep  him  from  talking  about 
things  that  meant  exposure  for  her.  Never  appar 
ently  had  he  been  so  flattered  by  any  individual  girl's 
attention ;  she  was  gay,  witty,  audacious,  charming, 
leading  and  carrying  every  theme  to  a  scintillating 
conclusion. 

10 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

The  other  four  people  at  their  table  he  had  not 
before  met — she  had  seen  to  that — and  it  proved  to 
be  a  very  jolly  group,  and  there  was  a  steady,  gay 
tumult  of  voices  around  it,  swept  by  little  gusts  of 
laughter ;  and  he  knew  perfectly  well  that  he  had 
never  had  such  a  good  time  as  he  was  having — had 
never  been  so  clever,  so  interesting,  so  quick  with 
his  wit,  so  amusing.  He  had  never  seen  such  a  girl 
as  had  been  allotted  to  him — never !  Besides,  some 
thing  else  had  nerved  him  to  do  his  best.  And  he 
was  doing  it. 

"  It's  a  curious  thing,"  he  said,  with  that  odd  new 
smile  of  his,  "  what  a  resemblance  there  is  between 
you  and  Mrs.  Austin." 

"What  Mrs.  Austin?"  began  the  girl  opposite; 
but  got  no  further,  for  Cecil  Gay  was  appealing  to 
him  to  act  as  arbiter  in  a  disputed  Bridge  question ; 
and  he  did  so  with  nice  discrimination  and  a  logical 
explanation  which  tided  matters  over  that  time.  But 
it  was  a  close  call;  and  the  color  had  not  all  re 
turned  to  Cecil's  cheeks  when  he  finished,  with 
great  credit  to  his  own  reputation  as  a  Bridge 
expert. 

But  the  very  deuce  seemed  to  possess  him  to 
talk  on  subjects  from  which  she  strove  to  lead 
him. 

These  are  the  other  breaks  he  made,  and  as  far  as 
130 


Destiny 


he  got  with  each  break — stopped  neatly  every  time 
in  time : 

"  Curious  I  haven't  seen  Jack  Aus " 

"  Mrs.  Austin  does  resemble " 

"  This  is  the  first  time  I  have  ever  been  in  Bev — " 

And  each  time  she  managed  to  repair  the  break 
unnoticed.  But  it  was  telling  on  her ;  she  couldn't 
last  another  round — she  knew  that.  Only  the  figura 
tive  bell  could  save  her  now.  And  she  could  almost 
hear  it  as  her  sister  rose. 

Saved !  But — but — what  might  some  of  these  men 
say  to  him  if  he  lingered  here  for  coffee  and  cigar 
ettes? 

"  You  won't,  will  you  ?  "  she  said  desperately,  as 
all  rose. 

"  Won't— what?  "  he  asked. 

"  Stay— long." 

He  rapidly  made  his  way  from  the  third  into  the 
fourth  Heaven.  She  watched  him. 

"  No,  indeed,"  he  said  under  his  breath. 

She  lingered,  fascinated  by  her  own  peril.  Could 
she  get  him  away  at  once? 

"  I — I  wonder,  Mr.  Seabury,  what  you  would  think 
if  I — if  I  suggested  that  you  smoke — smoke — on  the 
stairs — now — with  me?  " 

He  hastily  scrambled  out  of  the  fourth  Heaven 
into  the  fifth.  She  saw  him  do  it. 

131 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  I'd  rather  smoke  there  than  anywhere  in  the 
world " 

"  Quick,  then !  Saunter  over  to  the  door — stroll 
about  a  little  first — no,  don't  do  even  that ! — I — I 
mean — you'd  better  hurry.  Please!  "  She  cast  a 
rapid  look  about  her;  she  could  not  linger  another 
moment.  Then,  concentrating  all  the  sweetness  and 
audacity  in  her,  and  turning  to  him,  she  gave  him 
one  last  look.  It  was  sufficient  to  send  him  in  one 
wild,  flying  leap  from  the  fifth  Heaven  plump  into 
the  sixth.  The  sixth  Heaven  was  on  the  stairs ;  and 
his  legs  carried  him  thither  at  a  slow  and  indifferent 
saunter,  though  it  required  every  scrap  of  his  self- 
control  to  prevent  his  legs  from  breaking  into  a  tri 
umphant  trot.  Yet  all  the  while  that  odd  smile  flick 
ered,  went  out,  and  flickered  in  his  eyes. 

She  was  there,  very  fluffy,  very  brilliant,  and  flus 
tered  and  adorable,  the  light  from  the  sconces  play 
ing  over  her  bare  arms  and  shoulders  and  spinning 
all  sorts  of  aureoles  around  her  bright  hair.  Hah! 
She  had  him  alone  now.  She  was  safe ;  she  could 
breathe  again.  And  he  might  harp  on  the  Austins  all 
he  chose.  Let  him  ! 

"  No,  7  can't  have  cigarettes,"  she  explained,  "  be 
cause  it  isn't  good  for  my  voice.  I'm  supposed  to 
possess  a  voice,  you  know." 

"  It's  about  the  sweetest  voice  I  ever  heard,"  he 


Destiny 


said  so  sincerely  that  the  bright  tint  in  her  cheeks 
deepened. 

"  That  is  nicer  than  a  compliment,"  she  said,  look 
ing  at  him  with  a  little  laugh  of  pleasure.  He  nod 
ded,  watching  the  smoke  rings  drifting  through  the 
hall. 

"  Do  you  know  something?  "  he  said. 

"  Not  very  much.     What?  " 

"  If  I  were  a  great  matrimonial  prize " 

"  You  are,  aren't  you?  " 

"  //  I  was,"  he  continued,  ignoring  her,  "  like  a 
king  or  a  grand  duke " 

"  Exactly." 

"  I'd  invite  a  grand  competition  for  my  hand  and 
heart " 

"  We'd  all  go,  Mr.  Seabury " 

" And    then    I'd    stroll    about    among    them 

all " 

"  Certainly — among  the  competing  millions." 

"  Among  the  millions — blindfolded " 

"  Blinfo " 

"  Yes." 

"Why?" 

" Blindfolded !  "  he  repeated  with  emphasis. 

"  I  would  choose  a  voice! — before  everything  else  in 
the  world." 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  rather  faintly. 
133 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  A  voice,"  he  mused,  looking  hard  at  the  end  of 
his  cigarette  which  had  gone  out:  and  the  odd  smile 
began  to  flicker  in  his  eyes  again. 

Mischief  prompting,  she  began :  "  I  wonder  what 
chance  I  should  have  in  your  competition?  First 
prize  I  couldn't  aspire  to,  but — there  would  be  a  sort 
of  booby  prize — wouldn't  there,  Mr.  Seabury  ?  " 

"  There  would  be  only  one  prize " 

"Oh!" 

"  And  that  would  be  the  booby  prize ;  the  prize 
booby."  And  he  smiled  his  odd  smile  and  laid  his 
hand  rather  gracefully  over  his  heart.  "  You  have 
won  him,  Miss  Gay." 

She  looked  at  him  prepared  to  laugh,  but,  curi 
ously  enough,  there  wras  less  of  the  booby  about  him 
as  she  saw  him  there  than  she  had  expected — a  tall, 
clean-cut,  attractive  young  fellow,  with  a  well-shaped 
head  and  nice  ears — a  man,  not  a  boy,  after  all — 
pleasant,  amiably  self-possessed,  and  of  her  owrn  sort, 
as  far  as  breeding  showed. 

Gone  was  the  indescribably  indefinite  suggestion 
of  too  good  looks,  of  latent  self-sufficiency.  He  no 
longer  struck  her  as  being  pleased  with  himself,  of 
being  a  shade — just  a  shade — too  sure  of  himself. 
A  change,  certainly;  and  to  his  advantage.  Kind 
ness,  sympathy,  recognition  make  wonderful  changes 
in  some  people. 

134 


Destiny 


"  I'll  tell  you  what  I'd  do  if  I  were  queen,  and  " 
— she  glanced  at  him — "  a  matrimonial  prize.  .  .  . 
Shall  I?" 

"  Why  be  both?  "  he  asked. 

"  That  rings  hollow,  Mr.  Seabury,  after  your  trib 
ute  to  my  voice !  .  .  .  Suppose  I  were  queen.  Pd 
hold  a  caucus,  too.  Please  say  you'd  come." 

"  Oh,  I  am  already  there !  " 

"  That  won't  help  you ;  it  isn't  first  come,  first 
served  at  my  caucus !  .  .  .  So,  suppose  millions  of 
suitors  were  all  sitting  around  twisting  their  fingers 
in  abashed  hopeful  silence." 

"Exactly." 

"  What  do  you  think  I'd  do,  Mr.  Seabury?  " 

"  Run.     7  should." 

"  No ;  I  should  make  them  a  speech — a  long  one 
— oh,  dreadfully  long  and  wearisome.  I  should  talk 
and  talk  and  talk,  and  repeat  myself,  and  pile  plati 
tude  on  platitude,  and  maunder  on  and  on  and  on. 
And  about  luncheon-time  I  should  have  a  delicious 
repast  served  me,  and  I'd  continue  my  speech  as  I 
ate.  And  after  that  I'd  ramble  on  and  on  until  din 
ner-time.  And  I  should  dine  magnificently  up  there 
on  the  dais,  and,  between  courses,  I'd  continue  my 
speech " 

"  You'd  choose  the  last  man  to  go  to  sleep,"  he 
said  simply. 

135 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  How  did  you  guess  it  I "  she  exclaimed,  vexed. 
'"  I — it's  too  bad  for  you  to  know  everything,  Mr. 
'Seabury." 

"  I  thought  you  were  convinced  that  I  didn't  know 
anything?  "  he  said,  looking  up  at  her.  His  voice 
was  quiet — too  quiet ;  his  face  grave,  unsmiling, 
firm. 

"I?     Mr.  Seabury,  I  don't  understand  you." 

He  folded  his  hands  and  rested  his  chin  on  the 
knuckles.  "  But  I  understand  you,  Miss  Gay.  Tell 
me  " — the  odd  smile  flickered  and  went  out — "  Tell 
me,  in  whose  house  am  If  " 

Sheer  shame  paralyzed  her;  wave  on  wave  of  it 
crimsoned  her  to  the  hair.  She  sat  there  in  deathly 
silence ;  he  coolly  lighted  another  cigarette,  dropped 
one  elbow  on  his  knee,  propping  his  chin  in  his  open 
palm. 

"  I'm  curious  to  know — if  you  don't  mind,"  he 
added  pleasantly. 

"  Oh — h !  "  she  breathed,  covering  her  eyes  sud 
denly  with  both  hands.  She  pressed  the  lids  for  a 
moment  steadily,  then  her  hands  fell  to  her  lap,  and 
she  faced  him,  cheeks  aflame. 

"  I — I  have  no  excuse,"  she  stammered — "  noth 
ing  to  say  for  myself  .  .  .  except  I  did  not  under 
stand  what  a — a  common — dreadful — insulting  thing 

I  was  doing " 

136 


Destiny 


He  waited ;  then :  "  I  am  not  angry,  Miss  Gay." 

"  N-not  angry  ?  You  are  !  You  must  be  !  It  was 
too  mean — too  contemptible " 

"  Please  don't.  Besides,  I  took  possession  of  your 
sleigh.  Bailey  did  the  business  for  me.  I  didn't 
know  he  had  left  the  Austins,  of  course." 

She  looked  up  quickly ;  there  was  a  dimness  in  her 
eyes,  partly  from  earnestness ;  "  I  did  not  know  you 
had  made  a  mistake  until  you  spoke  of  the  Austins," 
she  said.  "  And  then  something  whispered  to  me 
not  to  tell  you — to  let  you  go  on — something  pos 
sessed  me  to  commit  this  folly ' 

"  Oh,  no ;  7  committed  it.  Besides,  we  were  more 
than  half-way  here,  were  we  not?  " 

"  Ye-yes." 

"  And  there's  only  one  more  train  for  Beverly,  and 
I  couldn't  possibly  have  made  that,  even  if  we  had 
turned  back !  " 

"  Y-yes.  Mr.  Seabury,  are  you  trying  to  defend 
me?" 

"  You  need  no  defense.  You  were  involved 
through  no  fault  of  your  own  in  a  rather  ridiculous 
situation.  And  you  simply,  and  like  a  philosopher, 
extracted  what  amusement  there  was  in  it." 

"  Mr.  Seabury !  You  shall  not  be  so — so  generous. 
I  have  cut  a  wretchedly  undignified  figure " 

"  You  couldn't !  " 

137 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 


"  I  could — I  have — I'm  doing  it !  " 

"  You  are  doing  something  else,  Miss  Gay." 

"W-what?" 

"  Making  it  very,  very  hard  for  me  to  go." 

"  But  you  can't  go  !  You  mustn't !  Do  you  think 
I'd  let  you  go — now?  Not  if  the  Austins  lived  next 
door!  I  mean  it,  Mr.  Seabury.  I — I  simply  must 
make  amends — all  I  can " 

"Amends?     You  have." 

"I?     How?" 

"  By  being  here  with  me." 

"  Th-that  is — is  very  sweet  of  you,  Mr.  Seabury, 
but  I — but  they — but  you — Oh !  I  don't  know  what 
I'm  trying  to  say,  except  that  I  like  you — they  will 
like  you — and  everybody  knows  Lily  Seabury. 
Please,  please  forgive " 

"  I'm  going  to  telephone  to  Beverly.  .  .  .  Will 
you  wait — here?  " 

"  Ye-yes.  Wh-what  are  you  going  to  telephone? 
You  can't  go,  you  know.  Please  don't  try — will 
you?  " 

"  No,"  he  said,  looking  down  at  her. 

Things  were  happening  swiftly — everything  was 
happening  in  an  instant — life,  youth,  time,  all  were 
whirling  and  spinning  around  her  in  bewildering 
rapidity;  and  her  pulses,  too,  leaping  responsive, 
drummed  cadence  to  her  throbbing  brain. 

138 


Destiny 


She  saw  him  mount  the  stairs  and  disappear — no 
doubt  to  his  room,  for  there  was  a  telephone  there. 
Then,  before  she  realized  the  lapse  of  time,  he  was 
back  again,  seating  himself  quietly  beside  her  on  the 
broad  stair. 

"Shall  I  tell  you  what  I  am  going  to  do?"  he 
said  after  a  silence  through  which  the  confused  sense 
of  rushing  unreality  had  held  her  mute. 

"  Wh-what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  Walk  to  Beverly." 

"  Mr.  Seabury !     You  promised " 

"Did  I?" 

"  You  did !  It  is  snowing  terribly.  ...  It  is  miles 
and  miles  and  the  snow  is  already  too  deep.  Besides, 
do  you  think  I — we  would  let  you  walk!  But  you 
shall  not  go — and  there  are  horses  enough,  too !  No, 
no,  no !  I — I  wish  you  would  let  me  try  to  make  up 
something  to  you — if  I — all  that  I  can  possibly 
make  up." 

"  At  the  end  of  the  hall  above  there's  a  window," 
he  said  slowly.  "  Prove  to  me  that  the  snow  is  too 
deep." 

"  Prove  it  ?  "  She  sprang  up,  gathering  her  silken 
skirts  and  was  on  the  landing  above  before  he  could 
rise. 

He  found  her,  smiling,  triumphant,  beside  the  big 
casement  at  the  end  of  the  hallway. 

139 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  Now  are  you  convinced?  "  she  said.  "  Just  look 
at  the  snowdrifts.  Are  you  satisfied  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  said,  quietly — too  quietly  by  far.  She 
looked  up  at  him,  a  quick  protest  framed  on  her  red 
lips.  Something — perhaps  the  odd  glimmer  in  his 
eyes — committed  her  to  silence.  From  silence  the 
stillness  grew  into  tension ;  and  again  the  rushing 
sense  of  unreality  surged  over  them  both,  leaving 
their  senses  swimming. 

"  There  is  only  one  thing  in  the  world  I  care  for 
now,"  he  said. 

"  Ye-yes." 

"  And  that  is  to  have  you  think  well  of  me." 

"  I— I  do." 

"  — And  each  day — think  better  of  me." 

"  I— will— probably " 

"  And  in  the  end " 

She  neither  stirred  nor  turned  her  eyes. 

"  — In  the  end — Listen  to  me." 

"  I  am  wi-willing  to." 

"  Because  it  will  be  then  as  it  is  now ;  as  it  was 
when  even  I  didn't  know  it — as  it  must  be  always,  for 
me.  Only  one  person  in  the  world  can  ever  matter  to 
me — now.  .  .  .  There's  no  escape  from  it  for  me." 

"  Do — do  you  wish  to — escape?  " 

"  Cecil !  "  he  said  under  his  breath. 


140 


"'Only  one  person  in  the   world  can  ever  matter  to 


me — now. 


.    . 

-     •     • 


! 
•      •    j    . "    . . 


Destiny 


"  They're  dancing,  below,"  she  said  leaning  over 
the  gallery,  one  soft  white  hand  on  the  polished  rail, 
the  other  abandoned  to  him — carelessly — as  though 
she  were  quite  unconscious  where  it  lay. 

"  They  are  dancing,"  she  repeated,  turning  to 
ward  him — which  brought  them  face  to  face,  both  her 
hands  resting  listlessly  in  his. 

A  silence,  then : 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "  that  this  is  a  very 
serious  matter?  " 

"  I  know." 

"  And  that  it's  probably  one  of  those  dreadful, 
terrible  and  sudden  strokes  of  Fate  ?  " 

"  I  know." 

"  And  that — that  it  serves  me  right  ?  " 

He  was  smiling;  and  she  smiled  back  at  him,  the 
starry  beauty  of  her  eyes  dimming  a  trifle. 

"  You  say  that  you  have  chosen  a  '  Voice,'  "  she 
said ;  "  and — do  you  think  that  you  would  be  the  last 
man  to  go  to  sleep?  " 

"  The  very  last." 

"  Then — I  suppose  I  must  make  my  choice.  .  . 
I  will  .  .  .  some  day.  .  .  .  And,  are  you  going  to 
dance  with  me?  " 

He  raised  her  hands,  joining  them  together  be 
tween  his ;  and  she  watched  him  gravely,  a  tremor 
touching  her  lips.  In  silence  their  hands  fell  apart; 

141 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

he  stepped  nearer ;  she  lifted  her  head  a  little — a  very 
little — closing  her  lids ;  he  bent  and  kissed  her  lips, 
very  lightly. 

That  was  all ;  they  opened  their  eyes  upon  one  an 
other,  somewhat  dazed.  A  bell,  very  far  off,  was 
sounding  faintly  through  the  falling  snow — faintly, 
persistently,  the  first  bell  for  Christmas  morning. 

Then  she  took  the  edges  of  her  silken  gown  be 
tween  thumb  and  forefinger,  and  slowly,  very  slowly, 
sank  low  with  flushed  cheeks,  sweeping  him  an  old- 
time  curtsey. 

"  I — I  wish  you  a  Merry  Christmas,"  she  said. 
..."  And  thank  you  for  your  wish.  .  .  .  And  you 
may  take  me  down,  now  " — rising  to  her  slim  and 
lovely  height — "  and  I  think  we  had  better  dance  as 
hard  as  we  can  and  try  to  forget  what  our  families 
are  likely  to  think  of  what  we've  done.  .  .  .  Don't 
you?" 

"  Yes,"  he  said  seriously,  "  I  do." 

"  And  that's  what  comes  of  running  after  trains, 
and  talking  to  fat  conductors,  and  wearing  chinchilla 
furs,  and  flouting  the  Mystic  Three !  "  added  Will 
iams  throwing  away  his  cigar. 


CHAPTER    XII 

IN    WHICH    A    MODEST    MAN    MAUNDERS 

IN  my  opinion,"  said  I,  "  a  man  who  comes  to  see 
Paris  in  three  months  is  a  fool,  and  kin  to  that 
celebrated    ass    who    circum-perambulated    the 
globe  in  eighty  days.     See  all,  see  nothing.     A  man 
might  camp  a  lifetime  in  the  Louvre  and  learn  little 
about  it  before  he  left  for  Pere  Lachaise.     Yet  here 
comes  the  United  States  in  a  gigantic  "  monome,"  to 
see  the  city  in  three  weeks,  when  three  years  is  too 
short  a  time  in  which  to  appreciate  the  Carnavalet 
Museum  alone!     I'm  going  home." 
"Oh,  papa!  "said  Alida. 

"  Yes,  I  am,"  I  snapped.     "  I'd  rather  be  tried  and 
convicted  in  Oyster  Bay  on  the  charge  of  stealing 

143 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

my  own  pig  than  confess  I  had  *  seen  Paris  '  in  three 
months." 

We  had  driven  out  to  the  Trocadero  that  day,  and 
were  now  comfortably  seated  in  the  tower  of  that 
somewhat  shabby  "  palace,"  for  the  purpose  of  ob 
taining  a  bird's  eye  view  of  the  "  Rive  Droite  "  or 
right  bank  of  the  Seine. 

Elegant,  modern,  spotless,  the  Rive  Droite  spread 
out  at  our  feet,  silver-gray  squares  of  Renaissance 
architecture  inlaid  with  the  delicate  green  of  parks, 
circles,  squares,  and  those  endless  double  and  quad 
ruple  lines  of  trees  which  make  Paris  slums  more  at 
tractive  than  Fifth  Avenue.  Far  as  the  eye  could 
see  stretched  the  exquisite  monotony  of  the  Rive 
Droite,  discreetly  and  artistically  broken  by  domes 
and  spires  of  uncatalogued  "  monuments,"  in  virgin 
territory,  unknown  and  unsuspected  to  those  spirit 
ual  vandals  whose  hordes  raged  through  the  boule 
vards,  waving  ten  thousand  blood-red  Baedekers  at 
the  paralyzed  Parisians. 

"Well,"  said  I,  "now  that  we  have  'seen'  the 
Rive  Droite,  let's  cast  a  bird's-eye  glance  over  Eu 
rope  and  Asia  and  go  back  to  the  hotel  for  lunch 
eon." 

My  sarcasm  was  lost  on  my  daughters  because  they 
had  moved  out  of  earshot.  Alida  was  looking 
through  a  telescope  held  for  her  by  a  friend  of  Cap- 

144 


A  Modest  Man  Maunders 


tain  de  Barsac,  an  officer  of  artillery  named  Captain 
Vicomte  Torchon  de  Cluny.  He  was  all  over  scarlet 
and  black  and  gold ;  when  he  walked  his  sabre  made 
noises,  and  his  ringing  spurs  reminded  me  of  the 
sound  of  sleigh-bells  in  Oyster  Bay. 

My  daughter  Dulcima  was  observing  the  fortress 
of  Mont-Valerien  through  a  tiny  pair  of  jewelled 
opera-glasses,  held  for  her  by  Captain  de  Barsac.  It 
was  astonishing  to  see  how  tirelessly  De  Barsac  held 
those  opera-glasses,  which  must  have  weighed  at 
least  an  ounce.  But  French  officers  are  inured  to 
hardships  and  fatigue. 

"  Is  that  a  fortress  ?  "  asked  Dulcima  ironically. 
"  I  see  nothing  but  some  low  stone  houses." 

"  Next  to  Gibraltar,"  said  De  Barsac,  "  it  is  the 
most  powerful  fortress  in  the  world,  mademoiselle. 
It  garrisons  thousands  of  men ;  its  stores  are  enor 
mous  ;  it  dominates  not  only  Paris,  but  all  France.'* 

"  But  where  are  the  cannon  ?  "  asked  Dulcima. 

"  Ah — exactly — where  ?  That  is  what  other  na 
tions  pay  millions  to  find  out — and  cannot.  Will  you 
take  my  word  for  it  that  there  are  one  or  two  can 
non  there — and  permit  me  to  avoid  particulars  ?  " 

"  You  might  tell  me  where  just  one  little  unim 
portant  cannon  is  ?  "  said  my  daughter,  with  the 
naive  curiosity  which  amuses  the  opposite  and  still 
more  curious  sex. 

11  145 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  And  endanger  France  ?  "  asked  De  Barsac,  with 
owl-like  solemnity. 

"  Thank  you,"  pouted  Dulcima,  perfectly  aware 
that  he  was  laughing. 

Their  voices  became  low,  and  relapsed  into  that 
buzzing  murmur  which  always  defeats  its  own  ends 
by  arousing  parental  vigilance. 

"  Let  us  visit  the  aquarium,"  said  I  in  a  distinct 
and  disagreeable  voice.  Doubtless  the  "  voice  from 
the  wilderness  "  was  gratuitously  unwelcome  to  Mes 
sieurs  De  Barsac  and  Torchon  de  Cluny,  but  they 
appeared  to  welcome  the  idea  with  a  conciliatory 
alacrity  noticeable  in  young  men  when  intruded  upon 
by  the  parent  of  pretty  daughters.  Dear  me,  how 
fond  they  appeared  to  be  of  me ;  what  delightful  in 
formation  they  volunteered  concerning  the  Troca- 
dero,  the  Alexander  Bridge,  the  Champ  de  Mars. 

The  aquarium  of  the  Trocadero  is  underground. 
To  reach  it  you  simply  walk  down  a  hole  in  France 
and  find  yourself  under  the  earth,  listening  to  the 
silvery  prattle  of  a  little  brook  which  runs  over  its 
bed  of  pebbles  above  your  head,  pouring  down  lit 
tle  waterfalls  into  endless  basins  of  glass  which 
line  the  damp  arcades  as  far  as  you  can  see.  The 
arcades  themselves  are  dim,  the  tanks,  set  in  the  solid 
rock,  are  illuminated  from  above  by  holes  in  the 

146 


A  Modest  Man  Maunders 


ground,  through  which  pours  the  yellow  sunshine  of 
France. 

Looking  upward  through  the  glass  faces  of  the 
tanks  you  can  see  the  surface  of  the  water  with  bub 
bles  afloat,  you  can  see  the  waterfall  tumbling  in ; 
you  can  catch  glimpses  of  green  grass  and  bushes, 
and  a  bit  of  blue  sky. 

Into  the  tanks  fall  insects  from  the  world  above, 
and  the  fish  sail  up  to  the  surface  and  lazily  suck  in 
the  hapless  fly  or  spider  that  tumbles  onto  the  sur 
face  of  the  water. 

It  is  a  fresh-water  aquarium.  All  the  fresh-water 
fish  of  France  are  represented  here  by  fine  specimens 
— pike,  barbels,  tench,  dace,  perch,  gudgeons,  sea- 
trout,  salmon,  brown-trout,  and  that  lovely  delicate 
trout-like  fish  called  L* Ombre  de  Clievallier.  What 
it  is  I  do  not  know,  but  it  resembles  our  beauti 
ful  American  brook-trout  in  shape  and  marking ;  and 
is  probably  a  hybrid,  cultivated  by  these  clever 
French  specialists  in  fish-propagation. 

Coming  to  a  long  crystal-clear  tank,  I  touched  the 
glass  with  my  finger-tip,  and  a  slender,  delicate  fish, 
colored  like  mother-of-pearl,  slowly  turned  to  stare 
at  me. 

"  This,"  said  I,  "  is  that  aristocrat  of  the  waters 
called  the  '  Grayling.'  Notice  its  huge  dorsal  fin,  its 
tender  and  diminutive  mouth.  It  takes  a  fly  like  a 

147 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

trout,  but  the  angler  who  would  bring  it  to  net  must 
work  gently  and  patiently,  else  the  tender  mouth 
tears  and  the  fish  is  lost.  Is  it  not  the  most  beauti 
ful  of  all  fishes  ? 

"  '  Here  and  there  a  lusty  trout ; 
Here  and  there  a  Grayling — ' 

Ah,  Tennyson  knew.  And  that  reminds  me,  Alida," 
I  continued,  preparing  to  recount  a  personal  adven 
ture  with  a  grayling  in  Austria — "  that  reminds 
me " 

I  turned  around  to  find  I  had  been  addressing  the 
empty  and  somewhat  humid  atmosphere.  My  daugh 
ter  Alida  stood  some  distance  away,  gazing  absently 
at  a  tank  full  of  small  fry;  and  Captain  Vicomte 
Torchon  de  Cluny  stood  beside  her,  talking.  Per 
haps  he  was  explaining  the  habits  of  the  fish  in  the 
tank. 

My  daughter  Dulcima  and  Captain  de  Barsac  I  be 
held  far  down  the  arcades,  strolling  along  without 
the  faintest  pretence  of  looking  at  anything  but  each 
other. 

"  Very  well,"  thought  I  to  myself,  "  this  aquarium 
is  exactly  the  place  I  expect  to  avoid  in  future — " 
And  I  cheerfully  j  oined  my  daughters  as  though  they 
and  their  escorts  had  long  missed  me. 

Now,  of  course,  they  all  expressed  an  enthusiastic 
148 


A  Modest  Man  Maunders 


desire  to  visit  every  tank  and  hear  me  explain  the 
nature  of  their  contents ;  but  it  was  too  late. 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  it  is  damp  enough  here  to  float 
all  the  fishes  in  the  Seine.  And  besides,  as  we  are 
to  '  see  '  the  Rive  Droite,  we  should  hasten,  so  that 
we  may  have  at  least  half  an  hour  to  devote  to  the 
remainder  of  France." 

From  the  bowels  of  the  earth  we  emerged  into  the 
sunshine,  to  partake  of  an  exceedingly  modest  lunch 
eon  in  the  Trocadero  restaurant,  under  the  great 
waterfall. 

Across  the  river  a  regiment  of  red-legged  infantry 
marched,  drums  and  bugles  sounding. 

"  All  that  territory  over  there,"  said  De  Barsac, 
"  is  given  up  to  barracks.  It  is  an  entire  quarter  of 
the  city,  occupied  almost  exclusively  by  the  military. 
There  the  streets  run  between  miles  of  monotonous 
barracks,  through  miles  of  arid  parade  grounds, 
where  all  day  long  the  piou-pious  drill  in  the  dust; 
where  the  cavalry  exercise ;  where  the  field-artillery 
go  clanking  along  the  dreary  streets  toward  their 
own  exercise  ground  beyond  the  Usine  de  Gaz.  All 
day  long  that  quarter  of  the  city  echoes  with  drums 
beating  and  trumpets  sounding,  and  the  trample  of 
passing  cavalry,  and  the  clank  and  rattle  of  cannon. 
Truly,  in  the  midst  of  peace  we  prepare  for — some 
thing  else — we  French." 

149 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  It  is  strange,"  said  I,  "  that  you  have  time  to  be 
the  greatest  sculptors,  architects,  and  painters  in 
the  world." 

"  In  France,  monsieur,  we  never  lack  time.  It  is 
only  in  America  that  you  corner  time  and  dispense 
it  at  a  profit." 

"  Time,"  said  I,  "  is  at  once  our  most  valuable  and 
valueless  commodity.  Our  millionaires  seldom  have 
sufficient  time  to  avoid  indigestion.  Yet,  although 
time  is  apparently  so  precious,  there  are  among  us 
men  who  spend  it  in  reading  the  New  York  Herald 
editorials.  I  myself  am  often  short  of  time,  yet  I 
take  a  Long  Island  newspaper  and  sometimes  even 
read  it." 

We  had  been  walking  through  the  gardens,  while 
speaking,  toward  a  large  crowd  of  people  which  had 
collected  along  the  river.  In  the  centre  of  the  crowd 
stood  a  taxicab,  on  the  box  of  which  danced  the 
cabby,  gesticulating. 

When  we  arrived  at  the  scene  of  disturbance  the 
first  person  I  saw  distinctly  was  our  acquaintance, 
the  young  man  from  East  Boston,  hatless,  dishev 
elled,  all  over  dust,  in  the  grasp  of  two  agents  de 
police. 

"  He  has  been  run  over  by  a  taxi,"  observed  De 
Barsac.  "  They  are  going  to  arrest  him." 

"  Well,  why  don't  they  do  it  ?  "  I  said,  indignant- 
150 


A  Modest  Man  Maunders 


ly,  supposing  that  De  Barsac  meant  the  chauffeur 
was  to  be  arrested. 

"  They  have  done  so." 

"  No,  they  haven't !  They  are  holding  the  man 
who  has  been  run  over !  " 

"  Exactly.  He  has  been  run  over  and  they  are 
arresting  him."  « 

"  Who?  "  I  demanded,  bewildered. 

"  Why,  the  man  who  has  been  run  over !  " 

"  But  why,  in  Heaven's  name !  " 

"Why?  Because  he  allowed  himself  to  be  run 
over!" 

"  What !  "  I  cried.  "  They  arrest  the  man  who 
has  been  run  over,  and  not  the  man  who  ran  over 
him?" 

"  It  is  the  law,"  said  De  Barsac,  coolly. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  the  runner  is  left 
free,  while  the  runnee  is  arrested  ?  "  I  asked  in  deadly 
calmness,  reducing  my  question  to  legal  and  laconic 
language  impossible  to  misinterpret. 

"  Exactly.  The  person  who  permits  a  vehicle  to 
run  over  him  in  defiance  of  the  French  law,  which 
says  that  nobody  ought  to  let  himself  be  run  over, 
is  liable  to  arrest,  imprisonment,  and  fine — unless, 
of  course,  so  badly  injured  that  recovery  is  impos 
sible." 

Now  at  last  I  understood  the  Dreyfus  Affaire. 
151 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

Now  I  began  to  comprehend  the  laws  of  the  Ban 
darlog.  Now  I  could  follow  the  subtle  logic  of  the 
philosophy  embodied  in  "  Alice  in  Wonderland  "  and 
"  Through  the  Looking-Glass  !  " 

This  was  the  country  for  me!  Why,  certainly; 
these  people  here  could  understand  a  man  who  was 
guilty  of  stealing  his  own  pig. 

"  I  think  I  should  like  to  live  in  Paris  again,"  I 
said  to  my  daughters ;  then  I  approached  the  young 
man  from  East  Boston  and  bade  him  cheer  up. 

He  was  not  hurt ;  he  was  only  rumpled  and  dusty 
and  hopping  mad. 

"  I  shall  pay  their  darned  fine,"  he  said.  "  Then 
I'm  going  to  hire  a  cab  and  drive  it  myself,  and  hunt 
up  that  cabman  who  ran  over  me,  by  Judas !  " 

That  night  I  met  Williams  at  the  Cafe  Jaune  by 
previous  and  crafty  agreement;  and  it  certainly  was 
nice  to  be  together  after  all  these  years  in  the  same 
old  seats  in  the  same  cafe,  and  discuss  the  days  that 
we  never  could  live  again — and  wouldn't  want  to  if 
we  could — alas  ! 

The  talk  fell  on  Ellis  and  Jones,  and  immediately 
I  perceived  that  Williams  had  skillfully  steered  the 
conversation  toward  those  two  young  men — and  I 
knew  devilish  well  he  had  a  story  to  tell  me  about 
them. 

152 


A  Modest  Man  Maunders 


So  I  cut  short  his  side-stepping  and  circling,  and 
told  him  to  be  about  it  as  I  wanted  to  devote  one 
or  two  hours  that  night  to  a  matter  which  I  had  re 
cently  neglected — Sleep. 

"  That  Jones,"  he  said,  "  was  a  funny  fellow.  He 
and  Ellis  didn't  meet  over  here ;  Ellis  was  before  his 
time.  But  they  became  excellent  friends  under  rather 
unusual  circumstances. 

Ellis,  you  know,  was  always  getting  some  trout 
fishing  when  he  was  over  here.  He  was  a  good  deal 
of  a  general  sportsman.  As  for  Jones — well,  you 
remember  that  he  had  no  use  for  anything  more 
strenuous  than  a  motor  tour." 

"  I  remember,"  I  said. 


CHAPTER 

A    CHANCE    ACQUAINTANCE 

WELL,  then,  the  way  that  Ellis  and  Jones 
met  each  other — and  several  other  things 
— was  this.    It  chanced  to  be  in  the  north 
ern  forests,  I  believe — both  were  fishing,  neither  knew 
the  other  nor  was  even  aware  of  their  mutual  prox 
imity. 

Then  the  wind  changed  abruptly,  blowing  now  from 
the  south ;  and  with  the  change  of  wind  Ellis  fancied 
that  he  smelled  green  wood  burning.  A  few  minutes 
later  he  was  sure  of  it;  he  stood  knee-deep  in  the 
stream  sniffing  uneasily,  then  he  lifted  his  trout-rod, 
reeled  in  his  line,  and  waded  silently  shoreward,  his 
keen  nose  twitching. 

Ah!  There  it  was — that  misty  bluish  bloom  belt 
ing  a  clump  of  hemlocks.  And  the  acrid  odor  grew, 
impregnating  the  filtered  forest  air.  He  listened, 
restless  eyes  searching.  The  noise  of  the  stream  filled 
his  ears ;  he  tightened  the  straps  of  his  pack,  short- 

154 


A  Chance  Acquaintance 


ened  his  trout  rod,  leaving  line  and  cast  on,  and 
crawled  up  the  ravine,  shoulder-deep  in  fragrant  un 
dergrowth,  until  the  dull  clash  of  flashing  spray  and 
the  tumult  of  the  falls  were  almost  lost  in  the  leafy 
depths  behind. 

Ranker,  stronger,  came  the  pungent  odor  of 
smoke ;  halting  to  listen  he  heard  the  hissing  whisper 
of  green  wood  afire ;  then,  crawling  up  over  an  enor 
mous  boulder,  he  saw,  just  beyond  and  below,  a  man 
in  tweeds,  squatting  on  his  haunches,  and  attempt 
ing  to  toss  a  flapjack  over  a  badly  constructed  camp- 
fire. 

The  two  young  men  caught  sight  of  one  another 
at  the  same  instant;  alert,  mistrustful,  each  stared 
at  the  other  in  questioning  silence  while  the  first  in 
stinct  of  unpleasant  surprise  lasted. 

"  How  are  you?  "  said  the  man,  cautiously. 
"  Good-morning,"  replied  Ellis.     "  When  the  wind 
turned  I  scented  your  fire  down  the  stream.     Thought 
I'd  see  what  was  burning." 

"  Are  you  up  here  fishing  ?  "  inquired  he  of  the 
tweeds. 

"  Yes ;  came  here  by  canoe  to  the  forks  below.  I 
am  out  for  a  week  by  myself.  The  Caranay  water 
is  my  old-time  trail.  .  .  .  Looks  like  a  storm,  doesn't 
it?" 

"Anything  doing  with  the  trout?  " 
155 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

66  Not  much ;  two  in  the  falls  pool  that  come  an 
ounce  short  of  the  pound.  I  should  be  glad  to  divide 
— if  you  are  shy  on  trout." 

Again   they  regarded  one  another  carefully. 

"  My  name,"  said  the  man  by  the  fire,  "  is  Jones — 
but  that  can't  be  helped  now.  So  if  you'll  overlook 
such  matters  I'll  be  glad  of  a  trout  if  you  can  spare 
one." 

"  My  name  is  Ellis ;  help  yourself." 

The  man  by  the  fire  glanced  at  the  burnt  flapjack, 
scraped  it  free  from  the  pan,  tossed  it  into  the 
bushes,  and  straightened  to  his  full  height. 

"  Come  into  camp,  Mr.  Ellis,"  he  said,  politely. 
The  freemasonry  of  caste  operates  very  quickly  in 
the  wilderness ;  Ellis  slid  down  the  boulder  on  the  re- 
enforced  seat  of  his  knickerbockers,  landing,  with 
hob-nailed  shoes  foremost,  almost  at  the  edge  of 
the  fire.  Then  he  laid  his  rod  aside,  slipped  the 
pack  to  the  ground,  unslung  his  creel,  and,  fishing 
out  a  handkerchief,  mopped  his  sunburnt  coun 
tenance. 

"  Anything  else  you're  short  of,  Mr.  Jones  ?  "  he 
asked,  pleasantly.  "  I'm  just  in  from  the  settle 
ments,  and  I  can  let  you  have  a  pinch  of  almost  any 
thing." 

"  Have  you  plenty  of  salt?  "  inquired  Jones,  wist 
fully. 

156 


A  Chance  Acquaintance 


"Plenty;  isn't  there  anything  else?  Bacon? 
Sugar?" 

"Matches?" 

Ellis  looked  at  him  keenly ;  good  woodsmen  don't 
run  short  of  matches ;  good  woodsmen  don't  build 
such  fires. 

"  Certainly,"  he  said.  "  Did  you  have  an  acci 
dent?  " 

"  No — that  is,  several  boxes  got  wet,  and  I've  been 
obliged  to  sit  around  this  confounded  fire  for  fear  it 
might  go  out — didn't  dare  fish  very  far  from  it." 

He  looked  gloomily  around,  rubbed  his  forehead 
as  though  trying  to  recollect  something,  and  finally 
sat  down  on  a  log. 

"  Fact  is,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  know  very  much  about 
the  woods.  Do  you?  Everything's  gone  wrong;  I 
tore  my  canoe  in  the  Ledge  Rapids  yesterday.  I'm 
in  a  fix." 

Ellis  laughed ;  and  his  laugh  was  so  pleasant,  so 
entirely  without  offence,  that  young  Jones  laughed, 
too,  for  a  while,  then  checked  himself  to  adjust  his 
eyeglasses,  which  his  mirth  had  displaced. 

"  Can  you  cook?  "  he  asked,  so  seriously  that  Ellis 
only  nodded,  still  laughing. 

"  Then,  for  Heaven's  love,  would  you,  when  you 
cook  your  own  breakfast  over  that  fire,  cook  enough 
for  two?" 

157 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  Why,  man,  I  believe  you're  hungry,"  said  Ellis, 
sharply. 

"  Hungry  ?  Well,  I  don't  know  whether  you  would 
call  it  exactly  hunger,  because  I  have  eaten  several 
things  which  I  cooked.  I  ought  not  to  be  hungry ; 
I  tried  to  toss  a  flapjack,  but  it  got  stuck  to  the  pan. 
Fact  is,  I'm  a  rotten  cook,  and  I  guess  it's  simply 
that  I'm  half  starved  for  a  decent  meal." 

"  Why,  see  here,"  said  Ellis,  rising  to  his  feet,  "  I 
can  fix  up  something  pretty  quick  if  you  like." 

"  I  do  like.  Yonder  is  my  cornmeal,  coffee,  some 
damp  sugar,  flour,  and  what's  left  of  the  pork. 
You  see  I  left  it  in  a  corner  of  the  lean-to,  and 
while  I  was  asleep  a  porcupine  got  busy  with  it ;  then 
I  hung  it  on  a  tree,  and  some  more  porcupines  in 
vited  their  relatives,  and  they  all  climbed  up  and 
nearly  finished  it.  Did  you  suppose  that  a  porcupine 
could  climb  a  tree  ?  " 

"  I've  heard  so,"  said  Ellis,  gravely,  busy  with  the 
stores  which  he  was  unrolling  from  his  own  blanket. 
The  guilelessness  of  this  stray  brother  appalled  him. 
Here  was  a  babe  in  the  woods.  A  new  sort  of  babe, 
too,  for,  in  the  experience  of  Ellis,  the  incompetent 
woodsman  is  ever  the  loudest-mouthed,  the  tyro,  the 
most  conceited.  But  this  forest-squatting  innocent 
not  only  knew  nothing  of  the  elements  of  woodcraft, 
but  had  called  a  stranger's  attention  to  his  ignorance 

158 


A  Chance  Acquaintance 


with  a  simplicity  that  silenced  mirth,  forestalled  con 
tempt,  and  aroused  a  curious  respect  for  the  unfor 
tunate. 

"  He  is  no  liar,  anyway,"  thought  Ellis,  placing  a 
back-log,  mending  the  fire,  emptying  the  coffee  pot, 
and  settling  the  kettle  to  boil.  And  while  he  went 
about  culinary  matters  with  a  method  born  of  habit, 
Jones  watched  him,  aided  when  he  saw  a  chance; 
and  they  chatted  on  most  animatedly  together  as  the 
preparations  for  breakfast  advanced. 

"  The  very  first  day  I  arrived  in  the  woods," 
said  Jones,  "  I  fell  into  the  stream  and  got  most 
of  my  matches  wet.  I've  had  a  devil  of  a  time 
since." 

"  It's  a  good  idea  to  keep  reserve  matches  in  a 
water-tight  glass  bottle,"  observed  Ellis,  carelessly, 
and  without  appearing  to  instruct  anybody  about 
anything. 

"  I'll  remember  that.  What  is  a  good  way  to  keep 
pork  from  porcupines  ?  " 

Ellis  mentioned  several  popular  methods,  stirred 
the  batter,  shoved  a  hot  plate  nearer  the  ashes,  and 
presently  began  the  manufacture  of  flapjacks. 

"  Don't  you  toss  'em  ?  "  inquired  Jones,  watching 
the  process  intently. 

"  Oh,  they  can  be  tossed — like  this !  But  it  is 
easier  for  me  to  turn  them  with  a  knife — like  this.  I 

159 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

have  an  idea  that  they  toss  flapjacks  less  often  in  the 
woods  than  they  do  in  fiction." 

"  I  gathered  my  idea  from  a  book,"  said  Jones, 
bitterly ;  "  it  told  how  to  build  a  fire  without  matches. 
Some  day  I  shall  destroy  the  author." 

Presently  Jones  remarked  in  a  low,  intense  voice: 
"  Oh,  the  fragrance  of  that  coffee  and  bacon ! " 
which  was  all  he  said,  but  its  significance  was  pathet 
ically  unmistakable. 

"  Pitch  in,  man,"  urged  Ellis,  looking  back  over 
his  shoulder.  "  I'll  be  with  you  in  a  second."  But 
when  his  tower  of  browned  and  smoking  flapjacks 
was  ready,  and  he  came  over  to  the  log,  he  found  that 
his  host,  being  his  host,  had  waited.  That  settled 
his  convictions  concerning  Jones  ;  and  that  was  doubt 
less  why,  inside  of  half  an  hour,  he  found  himself 
calling  him  Jones  and  not  Mr.  Jones,  and  Jones  call 
ing  him  Ellis.  They  were  a  pair  of  well-knit,  clean 
limbed  young  men,  throat  and  face  burnt  deeply  by 
wind  and  sun.  Jones  did  not  have  much  hair ;  Ellis's 
was  thick  and  short,  and  wavy  at  the  temples.  They 
were  agreeable  to  look  at. 

"Have  another  batch  of  flapjacks?"  inquired 
Ellis,  persuasively. 

Jones  groaned  with  satisfaction  at  the  prospect, 
and  applied  himself  to  a  crisp  trout  garnished  with 
bacon. 

160 


A  Chance  Acquaintance 


"  I've  tried  and  tried,"  he  said,  "  but  I  cannot  catch 
any  trout.  When  I  found  that  I  could  not  I  was 
horrified,  Ellis,  because,  you  see,  I  had  supposed  that 
the  forest  and  stream  were  going  to  furnish  me  with 
subsistence.  Nature  hasn't  done  a  thing  to  me  since 
I've  tried  to  shake  hands  with  her." 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Ellis,  "  why  you  came  into  the 
woods  alone?  " 

Jones  coyly  pounced  upon  another  flapjack, 
folded  it  neatly  and  inserted  one  end  of  it  into  his 
mouth.  This  he  chewed  reflectively ;  and  when  it  had 
vanished  according  to  Fletcher,  he  said : 

"  If  I  tell  you  why  I  came  here  I'll  begin  to  get 
angry.  This  breakfast  is  too  heavenly  to  spoil.  Pass 
the  bacon  and  help  yourself. 

Ellis,  however,  had  already  satisfied  his  hunger. 
He  set  the  kettle  on  the  coals  again,  dumped  into  it 
cup  and  plate  and  fork,  wiped  his  sheath-knife  care 
fully,  and,  curling  up  at  the  foot  of  a  hemlock,  lighted 
his  pipe,  returning  the  flaming  branch  to  the  back 
log. 

Jones  munched  on ;  smile  after  smile  spread 
placidly  over  his  youthful  face,  dislodging  his  eye 
glasses  every  time.  He  resumed  them,  and  ate  flap 
jacks. 

"  The  first  time  my  canoe  upset,"  he  said,  "  I  lost 
my  book  of  artificial  flies.  I  brought  a  box  of  angle- 
12  161 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

worms  with  me,  too,  but  they  fell  into  the  stream  the 
second  time  I  upset.  So  I  have  been  trying  to 
snare  one  of  those  big  trout  under  the  ledge  be 
low " 

Ellis's  horrified  glance  cut  him  short;  he  shrugged 
his  shoulders. 

"  My  friend,  I  know  it's  dead  low-down,  but  it  was 
a  matter  of  pure  hunger  with  me.  At  all  events,  it's 
just  as  well  that  I  caught  nothing;  I  couldn't  have 
cooked  it  if  I  had." 

He  sighed  at  the  last  flapjack,  decided  he  did  not 
require  it,  and  settling  down  with  his  back  against 
the  log  blissfully  lighted  his  pipe. 

For  ten  minutes  they  smoked  without  speaking, 
dreamily  gazing  at  the  blue  sky  through  the  trees. 
Friendly  little  forest  birds  came  around,  dropping 
from  twig  to  branch;  two  chipmunks  crept  into  the 
case  of  eggs  to  fill  their  pouched  chops  with  the  oats 
that  the  eggs  were  packed  in.  The  young  men 
watched  them  lazily. 

"  The  simpler  life  is  the  true  existence,"  commented 
Ellis,  drawing  a  long,  deep  breath. 

"What  the  devil  is  the  simpler  life?"  demanded 
Jones,  with  so  much  energy  that  the  chipmunks  raced 
away  in  mad  abandon,  and  the  flock  of  black-capped 
birds  scattered  to  neigbouring  branches,  remarking 
in  unison,  "  Chick-a-dee-dee-dee" 

162 


A  Chance  Acquaintance 


"  Why,  you're  leading  the  simpler  life  now,"  said 
Ellis,  laughing,  "  are  you  not?  " 

"  Am  I  ?  No,  I'm  not.  I'm  not  leading  a  simple 
life;  I'm  leading  a  pace-killing,  nerve-racking,  com 
plex  one.  I  tell  you,  Ellis,  that  it  has  taken  just  one 
week  in  the  woods  to  reveal  to  me  the  complexity  of 
simplicity !  " 

"  Oh,  you  don't  like  the  life?  " 

"  I  like  it  all  right,  but  it's  too  complex.  Listen 
to  me.  You  asked  me  why  anybody  ever  let  me  es 
cape  into  the  woods.  I'll  tell  you.  .  .  .  You're  a 
New  Yorker,  are  you  not?  " 

Ellis  nodded. 

"  All  right.  First  look  on  this  picture :  I  live  in 
the  Sixties,  near  enough  to  the  Park  to  see  it.  It's 
green,  and  I  like  it.  Besides,  there  are  geraniums 
and  other  posies  in  my  back  yard,  and  I  can  see  them 
when  the  laundress  isn't  too  busy  with  the  clothes 
line.  So  much  for  the  mise  en  scene;  me  in  a  twenty- 
by-one-hundred  house,  perfectly  contented;  Park  a 
stone's  toss  west,  back  yard  a  few  feet  north.  My 
habits?  Simple  enough  to  draw  tears  from  a  lamb 
kin  !  I  breakfast  at  nine — an  egg,  fruit,  coffee  and — 
I  hate  to  admit  it — the  Sun.  At  eleven  I  go  down 
town  to  see  if  there's  anything  doing.  There  never 
is,  so  I  smoke  one  cigar  with  my  partner  and  then 
we  lunch  together.  I  then  walk  uptown — walk,  mind 

163 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

you.  At  the  club  I  look  at  the  ticker,  or  out  of  the 
window.  Later  I  play  cowboy  or  billiards  for  an 
hour.  I  take  one  cocktail — one,  if  you  please.  I 
converse."  He  waved  his  pipe;  Ellis  nodded  sol 
emnly. 

"Then,"  continued  Jones,  "what  do  I  do?" 
"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Ellis. 

"  I'll  tell  you.    I  call  a  cab — one  taxi,  or  one  han 
som,  as  the  state  of   the  weather   may   suggest — I 
drive  through  the  Park,  pleasantly  aware  of  the  ver 
dure,  the  squirrels,  and  the  babies ;  I  arrive  at  my 
home ;  I  mount  to  the  library  and  there  I  select  from 
my  limited  collection  some  accursed  book  I've  always 
heard  of  but  have  never  read — not  fiction,  but  some 
thing  stupefying  and  worth  while.     This  I  read  for 
exactly   one   hour.      I   then   need   a   drink.      I   then 
dress ;  and  if  I'm  dining  out,  out  I  go — if  not,  I  dine 
at  home.     Twice  a  week  I  attend  the  theatre,  but  I 
neutralise    that    by    doing    penance    at    the    opera 
every  Monday  during  the  season.   .   .   .  There,  Ellis, 
is    the    story    of    a    simple    life !      Look    on    that 
picture.     Now  look  on  this:  Me  in  the  backwoods, 
fly-bitten,  smoke-choked,  a  half-charred  flapjack  in 
my   fist,    a   porcupine-gnawed    rind    of    pork    on    a 
stick,   attempting  to  broil   the   same   at  a   fire,   the 
smoke  of  which  blinds  me.     Me,  again,  belly  down, 
peering  hungrily  over  the  bank  of  a  stream,  attempt- 

164 


A  Chance  Acquaintance 


ing  to  snatch  a  trout  with  a  bare  hook,  my  glasses 
slipping  off  repeatedly,  the  spectre  of  starvation 
scourging  on  me.  Me,  once  more,  frantic  with  indi 
gestion  and  mosquitoes,  lurking  under  a  blanket, 
the  root  of  a  tree  bruising  my  backbone ;  me  in  the 
morning,  done  up,  shaving  in  icy  water  and  cutting 
my  chin;  me,  half  shaved,  searching  for  a  scrap  of 
nourishment,  gauntly  prowling  among  cold  and 
greasy  fry-pans  !  Ellis !  Which  is  the  simpler  life,  in 
Heaven's  name  ?  " 

Ellis's  laughter  was  the  laughter  of  a  woodsman, 
full,  infectious,  but  almost  noiseless.  The  birds  came 
back  and  teetered  on  adjacent  twigs,  cheeping  in 
friendly  unison ;  a  chipmunk,  chops  distended,  popped 
up  from  the  case  of  eggs  like  a  striped  jack-in-a- 
box,  not  at  all  afraid  of  a  man  who  laughed  that 
way. 

"  How  did  you  ever  come  into  the  woods  ?  "  he 
asked  at  length. 

"  Lunatic  friends  and  fool  books  persuaded  me  I 
was  missing  something.  I  read  all  about  how  to  tell 
a  woodcock  from  a  peacock ;  how  to  dig  holes  in  the 
ground  and  raise  little  pea  vines,  and  how  to  make 
two  blades  of  grass  grow  where  the  laundress  had 
set  a  devastating  shoe.  Then  I  tired  of  it.  But 
friends  urged  me  on,  and  one  idiot  said  that  I  looked 
like  the  victim  of  a  rare  disease  and  gave  me  a  shot- 

165 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

gun — whether  to  shoot  myself  or  the  dicky  birds  I'm 
not  perfectly  certain  yet.  Besides,  as  I  have  a  per 
fect  hatred  of  taking  life,  I  had  no  temptation  to 
shoot  guides  in  Maine  or  niggers  in  South  Carolina, 
where  the  quail  come  from.  Still,  I  was  awake  to  the 
new  idea.  I  read  more  books  on  bats  arid  wood- 
chucks  ;  I  smelled  every  flower  I  saw ;  I  tried  to  keep 
up,"  he  said,  earnestly ;  "  by  Heaven,  I  did  my  best ! 
And  now,  look  at  me!  Nature  hands  me  the  frozen 
mitt!" 

Ellis  could  only  laugh,  cradling  his  knees  in  his 
^clasped  and  sun-tanned  hands. 

"  I  am  fond  of  Nature ;  I  admire  the  geraniums  in 
my  backyard,"  continued  Jones,  excitedly.  "  I  like 
a  simple  life,  too ;  but  I  don't  wish  to  pursue  a  live 
thing  and  eat  it  for  my  dinner.  The  idea  is  per 
fectly  obnoxious  to  me.  I  like  flowers  on  a  table 
•or  in  the  Park,  but  I  don't  want  to  know  their 
names,  or  the  names  of  the  creatures  that  buzz 
.and  crawl  over  them,  or  the  names  of  the  birds  that 
feed  on  the  buzzy  things !  I  don't ;  I  know  I  don't, 
and  I  won't!  Nature  has  strung  me;  I  shall  knock 
Nature  hereafter.  This  is  all  for  mine.  I'll  lock  up 
and  leave  the  key  of  the  fields  to  the  next  Come-on 
lured  into  the  good  green  goods  by  that  most  accom 
plished  steerer,  Mrs.  Nature.  I've  got  my  gilt  brick, 
Ellis — I'm  going  home  to  buy  a  card  to  hang  over 

166 


A  Chance  Acquaintance 


my  desk;   and   on   it  will  be  the  wisest  words  ever 
written : 

"'Who's  Loony  Now?'" 

"  But,  my  dear  fellow " 

"  No,  you  don't.  You're  an  accomplice  of  this  Na 
ture  dame ;  I  can  tell  by  the  way  you  cook  and  catch 
trout  and  keep  your  matches  in  bottles.  One  large 
and  brilliant  brick  is  enough  for  one  New  York  man. 
The  asphalt  for  mine — and  a  Turkish  bath." 

After  a  grinning  silence,  Ellis  arose,  stretched, 
tapped  his  pipe  against  a  tree  trunk,  and  sauntered 
over  to  where  his  rod  lay.  "  Come  on ;  I'll  guarantee 
you  a  trout  in  the  first  reach,"  he  said,  affably,  slip 
ping  ferrule  into  socket,  disentangling  the  cast  and 
setting  the  line  free. 

So  they  strolled  off  toward  the  long  amber  reach 
which  lay  a  few  yards  below  the  camp,  Jones  ex 
plaining  that  he  didn't  wish  to  take  life  from  any 
thing  except  a  mosquito. 

"  We've  got  to  eat ;  we'd  better  stock  up  while  we 
can,  because  it's  going  to  rain,"  observed  Ellis. 

"  Going  to  rain  ?     How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  smell  it.  Besides,  look  there — yonder  above 
the  mountains.  Do  you  see  the  sky  behind  the 
Golden  Dome?" 


CHAPTER    XIV 

A    STATE    OF    MIND 

UP  the  narrow  valley,  over  the  unbroken  sweep 
of  treetops,  arose  tumbled  peaks ;  and  above 
the  Golden  Dome,  pushing  straight  upward 
into  the  flawless  blue  of  heaven,  towered  a  cloud,  its 
inky  convolutions  edged  with  silver. 

Jones  inspected  the  thunderhead  with  disapproval ; 
Ellis  offered  his  rod,  and,  being  refused,  began  some 
clever  casting,  the  artistic  beauty  of  which  was 
lost  upon  Jones. 

One  trout  only  investigated  the  red-and-white  fly ; 
and,  that  fish  safely  creeled,  Ellis  turned  to  his  com 
panion  : 

"  Three  years  ago,  when  I  last  came  here,  this 
reach  was  more  prolific.  But  there's  a  pool  above 
that  I'll  warrant.  Shall  we  move?  " 

As  they  passed  on  upstream  Jones  said :  "  There's 
no  pool  above,  only  a  rapid." 

168 


A  State  of  Mind 


"  You're  in  error,"  said  Ellis,  confidently.  "  I've 
known  every  pool  on  the  Caranay  for  years." 

"  But  there  is  no  pool  above — unless  you  mean  to 
trespass." 

"  Trespass  !  "  repeated  Ellis,  aghast.  "  Trespass 
in  the  free  Caranay  forests !  You — you  don't  mean 
to  say  that  any  preserve  has  been  established  on  the 
Caranay !  I  haven't  been  here  for  three  years.  .  .  . 
Do  you?" 

"  Look  there,"  said  Jones,  pointing  to  a  high  fence 
of  netted  wire  which  rose  above  the  undergrowth  and 
cut  the  banks  of  the  stream  in  two  with  a  barrier 
eight  feet  high ;  "  that's  what  stopped  me.  There's 
their  home-designed  trespass  notice  hanging  to  the 
fence.  Read  it;  it's  worth  perusal." 

Speechless,  but  still  incredulous,  Ellis  strode  to  the 
barrier  and  looked  up.  And  this  is  what  he  read 
printed  in  mincing  "  Art  Nouveau "  type  upon  a 
swinging  zinc  sign  fashioned  to  imitate  something 
or  other  which  was  no  doubt  very  precious : 

OYEZ! 

Ye  simple  livers  of  ye  simpler  life  have  raised  thys 
barrier  against  ye  World,  ye  Flesh  and  ye  Devyl. 
Turn  back  in  Peace  and  leave  us  to  our  Nunnery. 
YE  MAIDS  AND  DAMES  OF  VASSAR. 
169 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"What  the  devil  is  that  nonsense?"  demanded 
Ellis  hoarsely. 

"  Explained  on  our  next  tree,"  remarked  Jones, 
wiping  his  eyeglasses  indifferently. 

An  ordinary  trespass  notice  printed  on  white  linen 
was  nailed  to  the  flank  of  a  great  pine;  and,  below 
this,  a  special  warning,  done  in  red  on  a  white  board : 

NOTICE  ! 

This  property  belongs  to  the  Vassar  College  Sum 
mer  School.  Fishing,  shooting,  trapping,  the  felling 
of  trees,  the  picking  of  wild  flowers,  and  every  form 
of  trespass,  being  strictly  forbidden,  all  violators  of 
this  ordinance  under  the  law  will  be  prosecuted.  One 
hundred  dollars  reward  is  offered  for  evidence  leading 
to  the  detection  and  conviction  of  any  trespasser 
upon  this  property. 
THE  DIRECTORS  OF  THE  VASSAR  SUMMER  SCHOOL. 

"  Well  ?  "  inquired  Jones,  as  Ellis  stood  motion 
less,  staring  at  the  sign.  The  latter  slowly  turned 
an  enraged  visage  toward  his  companion. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  repeated  Jones, 
curiously. 

"  Do  ?    I'm  going  to  fish  the  Caranay .     Come  on." 

66  Trespass  on  Vassar?  "  asked  Jones. 

"  I'm  going  to  fish  the  Caranay,  my  old  and  fa- 
170 


A  State  of  Mind 


vorite  and  beloved  stream,"  retorted  Ellis,  doggedly. 
66  Do  you  suppose  a  dinky  zinc  sign  in  this  forest  can 
stop  me?  Come  on,  Jones.  I'll  show  you  a  trout 
worth  tossing  this  Caranay  Belle  to."  And  he 
looped  on  a  silver-and-salmon-tinted  fly  and  waded 
out  into  the  rapids. 

Jones  lighted  his  pipe  and  followed  him,  giving  his 
views  of  several  matters  in  a  voice  pitched  above  the 
whispering  rush  of  the  ripples : 

"  That's  all  very  well,  Ellis,  but  suppose  we  are 
pinched  and  fined?  A  nice  place,  these  forests,  for 
a  simple  liver  to  lead  a  simple  life  in!  Simple  life! 
What?  And  some  of  these  writers  define  the  4  simple 
life  '  as  merely  a  '  state  of  mind.'  That's  right,  too ; 
I  was  in  a  state  of  mind  until  I  met  you,  let  me  tell 
you!  They're  perfectly  correct;  it  is  a  state  of 
mind." 

He  muttered  to  himself,  casting  an  anxious  eye  on 
the  thundercloud  which  stretched  almost  to  the  zenith 
over  the  Golden  Dome  and  shadowed  Lynx  Peak  like 
a  pall. 

"  Rain,  too,"  he  commented,  wading  in  Ellis's 
wake.  "  There's  a  most  devilish  look  about  that 
cloud.  I  wish  I  were  a  woodchuck — or  a  shiner, 
or  an  earnest  young  thing  from  Vassar.  What 
are  we  to  do  if  pinched  with  the  goods  on  us, 
Ellis?" 

171 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

The  other  laughed  a  disagreeable  laugh  and 
splashed  forward. 

"  Because,"  continued  Jones,  wiping  the  spray 
from  his  glasses,  "  the  woods  yonder  may  be  teeming 
with  these  same  young  things  from  Vassar.  Old 
'uns,  too — there's  a  faculty  for  that  Summer  School. 
You  can  never  tell  what  a  member  of  a  ladies'  Sum 
mer  School  faculty  would  do  to  you.  I  dare  say  they 
might  run  after  you  and  frisk  you  for  a  kiss — out 
here  in  the  backwoods." 

"  Do  you  know  anything  about  this  absurd  Sum 
mer  School?  "  asked  Ellis,  halting  to  wait  for  his 
companion. 

"  Only  what  the  newspapers  print." 

"  And  what's  that  ?  I've  not  noticed  anything 
about  it." 

"  Why,  they  all  tell  about  the  scope  of  the  Vassar 
Summer  School.  It's  founded " — and  he  grinned 
maliciously — "  on  the  simple  life." 

"  How?  "  snapped  Ellis,  clambering  up  out  of  tha 
water  to  the  flat,  sandy  shore  of  an  exquisite  pool 
some  forty  rods  in  length. 

"  Why,  this  way :  The  Vassar  undergraduates,  who 
formerly,  after  commencement,  scattered  into  all  the 
complexities  of  a  silly,  unprofitable,  good  old  sum 
mer  time,  now  have  a  chance  to  acquire  simplicity 
and  a  taste  for  the  rudimentary  pleasures  and  pur- 

172 


A  State  of  Mind 


suits  they  have  overlooked  in  their  twentieth-century 
gallop  after  the  complex." 

Ellis  sullenly  freed  his  line  and  glanced  up  at  the 
clouds.  It  was  already  raining  on  the  Golden  Dome. 

"  So,"  continued  Jones,  "  the  Summer  School  took 
to  the  woods  along  with  the  rest  of  the  simple-minded. 
I  hear  they  have  a  library ;  doubtless  it  contains  the 
Outlook  and  the  Rollo  books.  They  have  courses  in 
the  earlier  and  simpler  languages — the  dead  'uns — 
Sanskrit,  Greek,  Latin;  English,  too,  before  it  grew 
pin-feathers.  They  have  a  grandstand  built  of  logs 
out  yonder  where  the  mosquito  hummeth ;  and  some 
trees  and  a  pond  which  they  call  a  theatre  devoted  to 
the  portrayal  of  the  great  primitive  and  simple  pas 
sions  and  emotions.  They  have  also  dammed  up  the 
stream  to  make  a  real  lake  when  they  give  tank- 
dramas  like  Lohengrin  and  the  Rheingold ;  and  the 
papers  say  they  have  a  pair  of  live  swans  hitched  to 
a  boat — that  is,  a  yellow  reporter  swears  they  have, 
but  he  was  discovered  taking  snapshots  at  some 
Rhine-wine  daughters,  and  hustled  out  of  the 
woods " 

He  paused  to  watch  Ellis  hook  and  play  and  pres 
ently  land  a  splendid  trout  weighing  close  to  two 
pounds. 

"  It's  an  outrage,  an  infernal  outrage,  for  such 
people  to  dam  the  Caranay  and  invade  this  God-given 

173 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

forest  with  their  unspeakable  tin  signs !  "  said  Ellis, 
casting  again. 

"  But  they're  only  looking  for  a  simpler  life — just 
like  you." 

Ellis   said  something. 

"  That,"  replied  Jones,  "  is  a  simple  and  ancient 
word  expressing  tersely  one  of  the  simplest  and  most 
primitive  passions.  You  know,  the  simple  life  is 
merely  a  "  state  of  mind  " ;  you're  acquiring  it ;  I 
recognize  the  symptoms." 

Ellis  made  another  observation,  more  or  less  man 
datory. 

"  Yes,  that  is  a  locality  purely  mythical,  according 
to  our  later  exponents  of  theology;  therefore  I  can 
not  accept  the  suggestion  to  go  there " 

"  Confound  it ! "  exclaimed  Ellis,  laughing,  as  he 
landed  a  trout,  "let  up  on  your  joking.  I'm  mad 
all  through,  and  it's  beginning  to  rain.  When  that 
thunder  comes  nearer  it  will  end  the  fishing,  too. 
Look  at  Lynx  Peak!  Did  you  see  that  play  of 
lightning?  There's  a  corker  of  a  storm  brewing. 
I  hope,"  he  added,  savagely,  "  it  will  carry  away  their 
confounded  dam  and  their  ridiculous  lake.  The  nerve 
of  women  to  dam  a  trout  stream  like  the  Caranay. 
.  .  .  What  was  that  you  said?  " 

"  I  said,"  hissed  Jones  in  a  weird  whisper,  "  that 
there  are  two  girls  standing  behind  us  and  taking 

174 


A  State  of  Mind 


our  pictures  with  a  kodak !     Don't  look  around,  man ! 
They'll  snap-shoot  us  for  evidence !  " 

But  the  caution  was  too  late;  Ellis  had  turned. 
There  came  a  click  of  a  kodak  shutter ;  Jones  turned 
in  spite  of  himself;  another  click  sounded. 

"  Stang ! "  breathed  Jones  as  two  young  girls 
stepped  from  the  shelter  of  a  juniper  brush  and 
calmly  confronted  the  astonished  trespassers. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  to  trouble  you,"  said  the  taller 
one  severely,  "  but  this  is  private  property." 

Ellis  took  off  his  cap ;  Jones  did  the  same. 

"  I  saw  your  signs,"  said  Ellis,  pleasantly.  Jones 
whispered  to  him :  "  The  taller  one  is  a  corker !  "  and 
Ellis  replied  under  his  breath :  "  The  other  is  attrac 
tive,  too." 

'You  admit  that  you  deliberately  trespassed?" 
inquired  the  shorter  girl  very  gravely. 

"  Not  upon  you — only  upon  what  you  call  your 
property,"  said  Ellis,  gaily.  "  You  see,  we  really 
need  the  trout  in  our  business — which  is  to  keep  soul 
and  body  on  friendly  terms." 

No  answering  smile  touched  the  pretty  grey  eyes 
fixed  on  his.  She  said  gravely :  "  I  am  very  sorry 
that  this  has  happened." 

"  We're  sorry,  too,"  smiled  Jones,  "  although  we 
can  scarcely  regret  the  charming  accident  which  per 
mits  us " 

175 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

But  it  wouldn't  do;  the  taller  girl  stared  at  him 
coldly  from  a  pair  of  ornamental  brown  eyes. 

Presently  she  said :  "  We  students  are  supposed  to 
report  cases  like  this.  If  you  have  deliberately  chosen 
to  test  the  law  governing  the  protection  of  private 
property  no  doubt  our  Summer  School  authorities 
will  be  willing  to  gratify  you  before  a  proper  tribunal. 
.  .  .  May  I  ask  your  names  ?  "  She  drew  a  note 
book  from  the  pocket  of  her  kilted  skirt,  standing 
gracefully  with  pencil  poised,  dark  eyes  focused  upon 
Jones.  And,  as  she  waited,  the  thunder  boomed  be 
hind  the  Golden  Dome. 

"  It's  going  to  rain  cats  and  dogs,"  said  Jones, 
anxiously  "  and  you  haven't  an  umbrella " 

The  dark-eyed  girl  gazed  at  him  scornfully.  "  Do 
you  refuse  your  name  ?  " 

"  No — oh,  not  at  all !  "  said  Jones  hastily ;  "  my 
name  is  Jones " 

The  scorn  deepened.  "  And — is  this  Mr.  Smith?  " 
she  inquired,  looking  at  Ellis. 

"  My  name  is  Jones,"  said  Jones  so  earnestly  that 
his  glasses  fell  off.  "  And  what's  worse,  it's  John 
Jones." 

Something  in  his  eye  engaged  her  attention — per 
haps  the  unwinking  innocence  of  it.  She  wrote 
"  John  Jones  "  on  her  pad,  noted  his  town  address, 
and  turned  to  Ellis,  who  was  looking  fixedly,  but  not 

176 


A  State  of  Mind 


offensively,  at    the    girl    with    the    expressive    grey 
eyes. 

"  If  you  have  a  pad  I'll  surrender  to  you,"  he  said, 
amiably.  "  There  is  glory  enough  for  all  here,  as 
our  admiral  once  remarked." 

The  grey  eyes  glimmered;  a  quiver  touched  the 
scarlet  mouth.  But  a  crash  of  nearer  thunder  whit 
ened  the  smile  on  her  lips. 

"  Helen,  I'm  going !  "  she  said  hastily  to  her  of  the 
brown  eyes. 

"  That  storm,"  said  Ellis  calmly,  "  has  a  long  way 
to  travel  before  it  strikes  the  Caranay  valley."  He 
pointed  with  his  rod,  tracing  in  the  sky  the  route  of 
the  crowding  clouds.  "  Every  storm  that  hatches 
behind  the  Golden  Dome  swings  south  along  the  Black 
Water  first,  then  curves  and  comes  around  by  the 
west  and  sweeps  the  Caranay.  You  have  plenty  of 
time  to  take  my  name." 

"  But — but  the  play  ?  I  was  thinking  of  the 
play,"  she  said,  looking  anxiously  at  the  brown  eyes, 
which  were  raised  to  the  sky  in  silent  misgiving. 

"  If  you  don't  mind  my  saying  so,"  said  Ellis, 
"  there  is  ample  time  for  your  outdoor  theatricals — 
if  you  mean  that.  You  need  not  look  for  that  storm 
on  the  upper  Caranay  before  late  this  afternoon. 
Even  then  it  may  break  behind  the  mountains  and 
you  may  see  no  rain — only  a  flood  in  the  river." 
13  177 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  Do  you  really  think  so  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  do ;  I  can  almost  answer  for  it.  You  see,  the 
Caranay  has  been  my  haunt  for  many  years,  and  I 
know  almost  to  a  certainty  what  is  likely  to  happen 
here." 

"That  is  jolly!"  she  exclaimed,  greatly  relieved. 
"  Helen,  I  really  think  we  should  be  starting " 

But  Helen,  pencil  poised,  gazed  obdurately  at  Ellis 
out  of  brown  eyes  which  were  scarcely  fashioned  for 
such  impartial  and  inexorable  work. 

"  If  your  name  is  not  Smith  I  should  be  very  glad 
to  note  it,"  she  said. 

So  he  laughed  and  told  her  who  he  was  and  where 
he  lived ;  and  she  wrote  it  down,  somewhat  shakily. 

"  Of  course,"  she  said,  "  you  cannot  be  the  artist — 
James  Lowell  Ellis,  the  artist — the  great " 

She  hesitated ;  brown  eyes  and  grey  eyes,  very  wide 
now,  were  concentrated  on  him.  Jones,  too,  stared, 
and  Ellis  laughed. 

"  Are  you?  "  blurted  out  Jones.  "  Great  Heaven ! 
I  never  supposed " 

Ellis  joined  in  a  quartet  of  silence,  then  laughed 
again,  a  short,  embarrassed  laugh. 

"  You  don't  look  like  anything  famous,  you  know," 
said  Jones  reproachfully.  "  Why  didn't  you  tell  me 
who  you  are?  Why,  man,  I  own  two  of  your  pic 
tures  !  " 

178 


A  State  of  Mind 


To  brown-eyes,  known  so  far  as  "  Helen,"  Ellis 
said :  "  We  painters  are  a  bad  lot,  you  see — but  don't 
let  that  prejudice  you  against  Mr.  Jones;  he  really 
doesn't  know  me  very  well.  Besides,  I  dragged  him 
into  this  villainy ;  didn't  I,  Jones  ?  You  didn't  want 
to  trespass,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  come !  "  said  Jones ;  "  I  own  two  of  your  pic 
tures — the  Amourette  and  the  Corrida.  That  ought 
to  convict  me  of  almost  anything." 

Grey-eyes  said :  "  We — my  father — has  the  Espag- 
nolita,  Mr.  Ellis."  She  blushed  when  she  finished. 

"  Why,  then,  you  must  be  Miss  Sandys ! "  said 
Ellis  quickly.  "Mr.  Kenneth  Sandys  owns  that  pic 
ture." 

The  brown  eyes,  which  had  widened,  then  sparkled, 
then  softened  as  matters  developed,  now  became  un 
compromisingly  beautiful. 

"  I  am  dreadfully  sorry,"  she  said,  looking  at  her 
notebook.  "  I  trust  that  the  school  authorities  may 
not  press  matters."  Then  she  raised  her  eyes  to  see 
what  Jones's  expression  might  resemble.  It  resem 
bled  absolutely  nothing. 

After  a  silence  Miss  Sandys  said :  "  Do  you  think 
Helen,  that  we  are — that  we  ought  to  report 
this " 

"  Yes,  Molly,  I  do." 

"  I'm  only  an  architect ;  fine  me,  but  spare  my 
179 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

friend,  Ellis,"  said  Jones  far  too  playfully  to  placate 
the  brown-eyed  Helen.  She  returned  his  glance  with 
a  scrutiny  devoid  of  expression.  The  thunder 
boomed  along  the  flanks  of  Lynx  Peak. 

"We — we  are  very  sorry,"  whispered  Miss  Sandys. 

"  I  am,  too,"  replied  Ellis — not  meaning  anything 
concerning  his  legal  predicament. 

Brown-eyes  looked  at  Jones ;  there  was  a  little  in 
clination  of  her  pretty  head  as  she  passed  them.  A 
moment  later  the  two  young  men  stood  alone,  caps  in 
hand,  gazing  fixedly  into  the  gathering  dimness  of 
Caranay  forest. 


CHAPTER    XV 

FLOTSAM    AND    JETSAM 

ELLIS,"  said  Jones,  earnestly,  as  they  climbed 
to  the  camp  and  stood  gazing  at  the  whiten 
ing  ashes  of  their  fire,  "  the  simple  life  is  a 
state  of  mind.     I'm  in  it,  now.     And — do  you  know, 
Ellis,  that— I— I  could  learn  to  like  it?  " 

Ellis  prodded  the  back-log,  and  tossed  on  some 
dry  sticks. 

"  Great  Heaven !  "  breathed  Jones,  "  did  you  ever 
see  such  eyes,  Ellis  ?  " 

"  The  grey  ones  ?     They're  very  noticeable " 

"  I  meant — well,  let  it  go  at  that.  Here  be  two  of 
us  have  lost  a  thousand  shillings  to-day." 

"And  the  ladies  were  not  in  buckram,"  rejoined 
Ellis,  starting  a  blaze.  "  Jones,  can  you  prepare 
trout  for  the  pan  with  the  aid  of  a  knife  ?  Here,  rub 
salt  in  'em — and  leave  all  but  two  in  that  big  tin — 
dry,  mind,  then  cover  it  and  sink  it  in  the  spring,  or 

181 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

something  furry  will  come  nosing  and  clawing  at  it. 
I'll  have  things  ready  by  the  time  you're  back." 

"  About  our  canoes,"  began  Jones.  "  I've  daubed 
mine  with  white  lead,  but  I  cut  it  up  badly.  Hadn't 
we  better  attend  to  them  before  the  storm  breaks  ?  " 

"  Get  yours  into  camp.  I'll  fetch  mine ;  it's  cached 
just  below  the  forks.  This  storm  may  tear  things." 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  two  vigorous  young 
men  swung  into  camp,  lowered  the  canoes  from  their 
heads  and  shoulders,  carried  the  strapped  kits,  poles 
and  paddles  into  the  lean-to,  and  turned  the  light 
crafts  bottom  up  as  flanking  shelters  to  headquarters. 

"  No  use  fishing ;  that  thunder  is  spoiling  the  Car- 
anay,"  muttered  Ellis,  moving  about  and  setting  the 
camp  in  order.  "  This  is  a  fine  lean-to,"  he  added ; 
"  it's  big  enough  for  a  regiment." 

"  I  told  you  I  was  an  architect,"  said  Jones,  sur 
veying  the  open-faced  shanty  with  pride.  "  I  had 
nothing  else  to  do,  so  I  spent  the  time  in  making  this. 
I'm  a  corker  on  the  classic.  Shall  I  take  an  axe  and 
cut  some  wood  in  the  Ionic  or  Doric  style?  " 

Ellis,  squatting  among  the  provisions,  busily  bring 
ing  order  out  of  chaos,  told  him  what  sort  of  wood 
to  cut ;  and  an  hour  later,  when  the  echoing  thwacks  of 
the  axe  ceased  and  Jones  came  in  loaded  with  fire 
wood,  the  camp  was  in  order;  hambones,  stale  bed 
ding,  tin  cans,  the  heads  and  spinal  processes  of  trout 

182 


Flotsam  and  Jetsam 


had  been  removed,  dishes  polished,  towels  washed  and 
drying,  and  a  pleasant  aroma  of  balsam  tips  mingled 
with  the  spicy  scent  of  the  fire. 

"  Whew !  "  said  Jones,  sniffing ;  "  it  smells  pleasant 
now." 

"  Your  camp,"  observed  Ellis,  "  had  all  the  fra 
grance  of  a  dog-fox  in  March.  How  heavy  the  air 
is.  Listen  to  that  thunder!  There's  the  deuce  to 
pay  on  the  upper  waters  of  the  Caranay  by  this 
time." 

"  Do  you  think  we'll  get  it?  " 

"  Not  the  rain  and  wind ;  the  electrical  storms 
usually  swing  off,  following  the  Big  Oswaya.  But 
we  may  have  a  flood."  He  arose  and  picked  up  his 
rod.  "  The  thunder  has  probably  blanked  me,  but 
if  you'll  tend  camp  I'll  try  to  pick  up  some  fish  in  a 
binnikill  I  know  of  where  the  trout  are  habituated 
to  the  roar  of  the  fork  falls.  We  may  need  every 
fish  we  can  get  if  the  flood  proves  a  bad  one." 

Jones  said  it  would  suit  him  perfectly  to  sit  still. 
He  curled  up  close  enough  to  the  fire  for  comfort  as 
well  as  aesthetic  pleasure,  removed  his  eyeglasses,  fished 
out  a  flask  of  aromatic  mosquito  ointment,  and  sol 
emnly  began  a  facial  toilet,  in  the  manner  of  a  com 
fortable  house  cat  anointing  her  countenance  with 
one  paw. 

"  Ellis,"  he  said,  blinking  up  at  that  young  man 
183 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

very  amiably,  "  it  would  be  agreeable  to  see  a  little 
more  of — of  Miss  Sandys;  wouldn't  it?  And  the 
other " 

"  We  could  easily  do  that." 

"Eh?     How?" 

"  By  engaging  an  attorney  to  defend  ourselves  in 
court,"  said  Ellis  grimly. 

"  Pooh !  You  don't  suppose  that  brown-eyed 
girl " 

"  Yes,  I  do  !  She  means  mischief.  If  it  had  rested 
with  the  other " 

"  You're  mistaken,"  said  Jones,  warmly.  "  I  am 
perfectly  persuaded  that  if  I  had  had  half  an  hour's 
playful  conversation  with  the  brown-eyed  one " 

"  You  tried  playfulness  and  fell  down,"  observed 
Ellis,  coldly.  "  If  I  could  have  spoken  to  Miss 
Sandys " 

"  What !  A  girl  with  steel-grey  eyes  like  two  pon 
iards  ?  A  lot  of  mercy  she  would  show  us  !  My  dear 
fellow,  trust  in  the  brown  eye  every  time !  The  warm, 
humane,  brown  eye — the  emotional,  the  melting,  the 
tender  brown " 

"Don't  trust  it!  Didn't  she  kodak  twice?  You 
and  I  are  now  in  her  Rogues'  Gallery.  Besides, 
didn't  she  take  notes  on  her  pad?  I  never  observed 
anything  humane  in  brown  eyes." 

Jones  polished  his  nose  with  the  mosquito  salve. 
184 


Flotsam  and  Jetsam 


"  How  do  you  know  what  she  wanted  my  picture 
for?"  he  asked,  annoyed.  "Perhaps  she  means  to 
keep  it  for  herself — if  that  grey-eyed  one  lets  her 
alone » 

"  Let  the  grey-eyed  one  alone  yourself,"  retorted 
Ellis,  warmly. 

"  You'd  better,  too.  Any  expert  in  human  char 
acter  can  tell  you  which  of  those  girls  means  mis 
chief." 

"  If  you  think  you're  an  expert — "  began  Ellis,  ir 
ritated,  then  stopped  short.  Jones  followed  his  eyes. 

"  Look  at  that  stream,"  said  Ellis,  dropping  his 
rod  against  the  lean-to.  "  There's  been  a  cloudburst 
in  the  mountains.  There's  no  rain  here,  but  look  at 
that  stream  !  Yellow  and  bank-full !  Hark  !  Hear 
the  falls.  I  have  an  idea  the  woods  will  be  awash 
below  us  in  an  hour." 

They  descended  to  the  ledge  which  an  hour  ago 
had  overhung  the  stream.  Now  the  water  was  level 
with  it,  lapping  over  it,  rising  perceptibly  in  the  few 
seconds  they  stood  there.  Alders  and  willows  along 
the  banks,  almost  covered,  staggered  in  the  discol 
ored  water;  drift  of  all  sorts  came  tumbling  past, 
rotten  branches,  piles  of  brush  afloat,  ferns  and 
shrubs  uprooted;  the  torrent  was  thick  with  flakes 
of  bark  and  forest  mould  and  green-leaved  twigs  torn 
from  the  stream-side. 

185 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

From  the  lower  reaches  a  deer  came  galloping  to 
ward  the  ridges ;  a  fox  stole  furtively  into  the  open, 
hesitated,  and  slunk  off  up  the  valley. 

And  now  the  shallow  gorge  began  to  roar  under 
the  rising  flood;  tumbling  castles  of  piled-up  foam 
whirled  into  view;  the  amber  waves  washed  through 
the  fringing  beech  growth,  slopping  into  hollows,  set 
ting  the  dead  leaves  afloat.  A  sucking  sound  filled 
the  woods ;  millions  of  tiny  bubbles  purred  in  the 
shallow  overflow;  here  and  there  dead  branches 
stirred,  swung  and  floated. 

"  Our  camp  is  going  to  be  an  island  pretty  soon," 
observed  Ellis;  "just  look  at " 

But  Jones  caught  him  by  the  arm.  "  What  is 
that  ?  "  he  demanded  shakily.  "  Are  there  things 
like  that  in  these  woods  ?  " 

At  the  same  instant  Ellis  caught  sight  of  some 
thing  in  midstream  bearing  down  on  them  in  a 
smother  of  foam — an  enormous  lizard-like  creature 
floundering  throat-deep  in  the  flood. 

"What  is  it,  Ellis?  Look!  It's  got  a  tail  ten 
feet  long!  Great  Heaven,  look  at  it!  " 

"  I  see  it,"  said  Ellis,  hoarsely.  "  I  never  saw  such 
a  thing " 

"  It's  opening  its  jaws !  "  gasped  Jones. 

Ellis,  a  trifle  white  around  the  cheekbones,  stared 
in  frozen  silence  at  the  fearsome  creature  as  it  swept 

186 


Flotsam  and  Jetsam 


down  on  them.  A  crested  wave  rolled  it  over;  four 
fearsome  claws  waved  in  the  air ;  then  the  creature 
righted  itself  and  swung  in  toward  the  bank. 

"  Upon  my  word !  "  stammered  Ellis ;  "  it's  part 
of  their  theatrical  property.  Lord !  how  real  it 
looked  out  yonder.  I  knew  it  couldn't  be  alive,  but 
— Jones,  see  how  my  hands  are  shaking.  Would 
you  believe  a  man  could  be  rattled  like  that  ?  " 

"  Believe  it  ?  I  should  say  I  could !  Look  at  the 
thing  wabbling  there  in  the  shallows  as  though  it 
were  trying  to  move  its  flippers !  Look  at  it,  Ellis ; 
see  how  it  seems  to  wriggle  and  paddle " 

The  words  froze  on  his  lips ;  the  immense  creature 
was  moving;  the  scaled  claws  churned  the  shallows; 
a  spasm  shook  the  head;  the  jaws  gaped. 

"  Help !  "  said  a  very  sweet  and  frightened  voice. 

Ellis  got  hold  of  one  claw,  Jones  the  other,  almost 
before  they  comprehended — certainly  before,  deep 
in  the  scaly  creature's  maw,  they  discovered  the 
frightened  but  lovely  features  of  the  grey-eyed  girl 
who  had  snap-shot  them. 

"Please  pull,"  she  said;  "I  can't  swim  in  this!" 

Almost  hysterically  they  soothed  her  as  they 
tugged  and  steered  the  thing  into  the  flooded  forest. 

"  Mr.  Ellis — please — please  don't  pull  quite  so 
hard,"  she  called  out. 

"  Oh,  did  I  hurt  you  ?  "  he  cried  so  tenderly  that, 
187 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

even  in  the  shock  of  emotions,  Jones  was  ashamed 
of  him. 

"  No,  you  don't  hurt  me,  Mr.  Ellis ;  I'm  all  right 
inside  here,  but  I — I — you  must  not  pull  this  papier- 
mache  dragon  to  pieces " 

"  What  do  I  care  for  the  dragon  if  you  are  in  dan 
ger?  "  cried  Ellis,  excitedly. 

But  it  was  a  frightened  and  vexed  voice  that  an 
swered  almost  tearfully :  "  If  you  pull  too  hard  on 
the  pasteboard  legs  something  dreadful  may  hap 
pen.  I — this  dragon  is — is  about  the  only  clothing 
I  have  on  !  " 

Ellis  dropped  the  flipper,  seized  it  again,  and 
gazed  into  the  scared  eyes  of  Jones. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  go  easy,"  he  hissed,  "  or  the 
thing  will  come  apart !  " 

Jones,  in  a  cold  perspiration,  stood  knee-deep  in  the 
flood,  not  daring  to  touch  the  flipper  again. 

"  You  help  here,"  he  whispered,  hoarsely.  "  If 
she  stands  up,  now,  you  can  support  her  to  camp, 
can't  you?  " 

Ellis  bent  over  and  looked  into  the  gaping  jaws 
of  Fafnir  the  Dragon. 

"  Miss  Sandys,"  he  said  seriously,  "  do  you  think 
you  could  get  on  your  hind — on  your  feet?  " 

The  legs  of  the  monster  splashed,  groping  for 
the  bottom;  Ellis  passed  his  arm  around  the  scaly 

188 


Flotsam  and  Jetsam 


body;  Fafnir  arose,  rather  wabbly,  and  took  one 
dripping  step  forward. 

"  I  fancy  we  can  manage  it  now,  Jones,"  said  Ellis, 
cheerfully,  turning  around;  but  Jones  did  not  an 
swer  ;  he  was  running  away,  dashing  and  splash 
ing  down  the  flooded  forest.  Beyond,  rocking  wildly 
in  a  gilded  boat,  sat  two  people  and  a  placid 
swan. 

"  Good  Lord ! "  faltered  Ellis,  as  the  dragon 
turned  with  a  little  shriek.  "  Is  the  whole  Summer 
School  being  washed  away?  " 

"  No,"  she  said  excitedly,  "  but  the  dam  broke. 
Helen  and  Professor  Rawson  tried  to  save  the  swan- 
boat — we  were  giving  tableaux  from  "  Lohengrin  " 
and  "  The  Rheingold  " — and — oh !  oh !  oh !  such  a 
torrent  came !  Helen — there  she  is  in  armour — Helen 
tried  to  paddle  the  boat,  but  the  swans  pulled  the 
other  way,  and  they  flapped  so  wildly  that  Helen 
called  for  help.  Then  one  of  the  Rhine-maidens — 
Professor  Rawson — waded  in  and  got  aboard,  but 
the  paddle  broke  and  they  were  adrift.  Then  one  of 
those  horrid  swans  got  loose,  and  everybody 
screamed,  and  the  water  rose  higher  and  higher,  and 
nobody  helped  anybody,  so,  so — as  I  swim  well,  I 
jumped  in  without  waiting  to  undress — you  see  I  had 
been  acting  the  dragon,  Fafnir,  and  I  went  in  just 
as  I  was ;  but  the  papier-mache  dragon  kept  turning 

189 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

turtle  with  me,  and  first  I  knew  I  was  being  spun 
around  like  a  top." 

There  was  a  silence ;  they  stood  watching  Jones 
scrambling  after  the  swan-boat,  which  had  come  to 
grief  in  shallow  water.  Professor  Rawson,  the 
Rhine-maiden,  gave  one  raucous  and  perfunctory 
shriek  as  Jones  floundered  alongside — for  the 
garb  of  the  normal  Rhine-daughter  is  scanty,  and 
Professor  Rawson's  costume,  as  well  as  her  maid 
enly  physique,  was  almost  anything  except  re 
dundant. 

As  for  Helen,  sometime  known  as  brown-eyes,  she 
rose  to  her  slim  height,  all  glittering  in  tin  armour, 
and  gave  Jones  a  smile  of  heavenly  gratitude  that 
shot  him  through  and  through  his  Norfolk  jacket. 

"  Don't  look !  "  said  Professor  Rawson,  in  a  voice 
which,  between  the  emotions  of  recent  terror  and 
present  bashfulness,  had  dwindled  to  a  squeak. 
"Don't  look;  I'm  going  to  jump."  And  jump  she 
did,  taking  to  the  water  with  a  trifle  less  grace  than 
the  ordinary  Rhine-maiden. 

There  was  a  spattering  splash,  a  smothered 
squawk  which  may  have  been  emitted  by  the  swan, 
and  the  next  moment  Professor  Rawson  was  churn 
ing  toward  dry  land,  her  wreath  of  artificial  seaweed 
over  one  eye,  her  spectacles  glittering  amid  her  dank 
tresses. 

190 


Beyond,  rocking  wildly  in  a  gilded  boat,  sat  two 
people  and  a  placid  swan." 


Flotsam  and  Jetsam 


Jones  looked  up  at  brown-eyes  balancing  in  the 
bow  of  the  painted  boat. 

"  I  can  get  you  ashore  quite  dry — if  you  don't 
mind,"  he  said. 

She  considered  the  water ;  she  considered  Jones ; 
she  looked  carefully  at  the  wallowing  Rhine-daughter. 

"  Are  you  sure  you  can?  "  she  asked. 

"  Perfectly  certain,"  breathed  Jones. 

"  I  am  rather  heavy " 

The  infatuated  man  laughed. 

"  Well,  then,  I'll  carry  the  swan,"  she  said  calmly; 
and,  seizing  that  dignified  and  astonished  bird,  she 
walked  demurely  off  the  prow  of  the  gaudy  boat  into 
the  arms  of  Jones. 

To  Ellis  and  the  grey-eyed  dragon,  and  to  Pro 
fessor  Rawson,  who  had  crawled  to  a  dry  spot  on 
the  ridge,  there  was  a  dreadful  fascination  in  watch 
ing  that  swaying  pyramid  of  Jones,  Lohengrin,  and 
swan  tottering  landward,  knee-deep  through  the 
flood.  The  pyramid  swayed  dangerously  at  times; 
but  the  girl  in  the  tin  armour  clasped  Jones  around 
the  neck  and  clung  to  the  off  leg  of  the  swan,  and 
Jones  staggered  on,  half-strangled  by  the  arm  and 
buffeted  by  the  flapping  bird,  until  his  oozing  shoes 
struck  dry  land. 

"  Hurrah !  "  cried  Ellis,  his  enthusiasm  breaking 
out  after  an  agonizing  moment  of  suspense ;  and  Miss 

191 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

Sandys,  forgetting  her  plight,  waved  her  lizard  claws 
and  hailed  rescuer  and  rescued  with  a  clear-voiced 
cheer  as  they  came  up  excited  and  breathless,  hus 
tling  before  them  the  outraged  swan,  who  waddled 
furiously  forward,  craning  its  neck  and  snapping. 

"  What  is  that?  "  muttered  Jones  aside  to  Ellis 
as  the  dragon  and  Lohengrin  embraced  hysterically. 
He  glanced  toward  the  Rhine-maiden,  who  was  hid 
ing  behind  a  tree. 

"  Rhine  wine  with  the  cork  pulled,"  replied  Ellis, 
gravely.  "  Go  up  to  camp  and  get  her  your  poncho. 
I'll  do  what  I  can  to  make  things  comfortable  in 
camp." 

The  girl  in  armour  was  saying,  "  You  poor,  brave 
dear!  How  perfectly  splendid  it  was  of  you  to 
plunge  into  the  flood  with  all  that  pasteboard  dragon- 
skin  tied  to  you — like  Horatius  at  the  bridge.  Molly, 
I'm  simply  overcome  at  your  bravery !  " 

And  all  the  while  she  was  saying  this,  Molly 
Sandys  was  saying :  "  Helen,  how  did  you  ever  dare 
to  try  to  save  the  boat,  with  those  horrid  swans  flap 
ping  and  nipping  at  you  every  second !  It  was  the 
most  courageous  thing  I  ever  heard  of,  and  I  simply 
revere  you,  Helen  Gay !  " 

Jones,  returning  from  camp  with  his  poncho,  said : 
"There's  a  jolly  fire  in  camp  and  plenty  of  pro 
visions  ;  "  and  sidled  toward  the  tree  behind  which 


Flotsam  and  Jetsam 


Professor  Rawson  was  attempting  to  prevent  sev 
eral  yards  of  cheese  cloth  from  adhering  too  closely 
to  her  outline. 

"  Go  away !  "  said  that  spinster,  severely,  peering 
out  at  him  with  a  visage  terminating  in  a  length 
of  swan-like  neck  which  might  have  been  attractive 
if  feathered. 

"  I'm  only  bringing  you  a  poncho,"  said  Jones, 
blushing. 

Ellis  heard  a  smothered  giggle  behind  him,  but 
when  he  turned  Molly  Sandys  had  shrunk  into  her 
dragon-skin,  and  Helen  Gay  had  lowered  the  vizor  of 
her  helmet. 

"  I  think  we  had  better  go  to  the  camp-fire,"  he 
said  gravely.  "  It's  only  a  step." 

"  We  think  so,  too,"  they  said.  "  Thank  you  for 
asking  us,  Mr.  Ellis." 

So  Ellis  led  the  way ;  after  him  slopped  the  drag 
on,  its  scaled  tail  dragging  sticks  and  dead  leaves  in 
its  wake;  next  waddled  the  swan,  perforce,  prodded 
forward  by  the  brown-eyed  maid  in  her  tin  armor. 
Professor  Rawson,  mercifully  disguised  in  a  rubber 
poncho,  under  which  her  thin  shins  twinkled,  came  in 
the  rear,  gallantly  conducted  by  Jones  in  oozing 
shoes. 


14 


CHAPTER    XVI 

THE    SIMPLEST     SOLUTION     OF    AN    ANCIENT     PROBLEM 

IN  the  silence  befitting  such  an  extraordinary  oc 
casion  the  company  formed  a  circle  about  the 
campfire. 

Presently  Professor  Rawson  looked  sharply  at  the 
damp  dragon.  "  Child !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  you  ought 
to  take  that  off  this  instant !  " 

"  But — but  I  haven't  very  much  on,"  protested 
Molly  Sandys  with  a  shiver.  ('  I'm  only  dressed  as 
a — a  page." 

"  It  can't  be  helped,"  retorted  the  professor  with 
decision ;  "  that  dragon  is  nothing  but  soaking  pulp 
except  where  the  tail  is  on  fire !  " 

Ellis  hastily  set  his  foot  on  the  sparks,  just  as 
Molly  Sandys  jumped.  There  was  a  tearing,  ripping 
sound,  a  stifled  scream,  and  three-quarters  of  a  page 
in  blue  satin  and  lisle  thread,  wearing  the  head  and 
shoulders  of  a  dragon,  shrank  down  behind  Professor 
Rawson's  poncho-draped  figure. 

"  Here's  my  poncho,"  cried  Ellis,  hastily ;  "  I  am 
194 


Solution  of  an  Ancient  Problem 

awfully  sorry  I  ripped  your  gown — I  mean  your 
pasteboard  tail — but  you  switched  it  into  the  fire  and 
it  was  burning." 

"  Have  you  something  for  me?  "  inquired  Miss 
Gay,  coloring,  but  calm ;  "  I'm  not  very  comfortable, 
either." 

Jones's  enraptured  eyes  lingered  on  the  slim  shape 
in  mail;  he  hated  to  do  it,  but  he  brought  a  Navajo 
blanket  and  draped  in  it  the  most  distractingly 
pretty  figure  his  rather  nearsighted  eyes  had  ever 
encountered. 

"  There,"  explained  Ellis,  courteously,  "  is  the 
shanty.  I've  hung  a  blanket  over  it.  Jones  and  I 
will  sleep  here  by  the  fire." 

"  Sleep !  "  faltered  Molly  Sandys.  "  I  think  we 
ought  to  be  starting " 

"  The  forests  are  flooded ;  we  can't  get  you  back 
to  the  Summer  School  to-night,"  said  Ellis. 

Professor  Rawson  shuddered.  "  Do  you  mean  that 
we  are  cut  off  from  civilization  entirely  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Look !  "  replied  Ellis. 

The  ridge  on  which  the  camp  lay  had  become  an 
island ;  below  it  roared  a  spreading  flood  under  a 
column  of  mist  and  spray ;  all  about  them  the  water 
soused  and  washed  through  the  forest;  below  them 
from  the  forks  came  the  pounding  thunder  of  the 
falls. 

195 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  There's  nothing  to  be  alarmed  at,  of  course," 
he  said,  looking  at  Molly  Sandys. 

The  grey  eyes  looked  back  into  his.  "  Isn't  there, 
really  ?  "  she  asked. 

Isn't  there?  "  questioned  Miss  Gay's  brown  eyes 
of  Jones's  pleasant,  nearsighted  ones. 

"  No,"  signalled  the  orbs  of  Jones  through  his 
mud-spattered  eyeglasses. 

"  I'm  hungry,"  observed  Professor  Rawson  in  a 
patient  but  plaintive  voice,  like  the  note  of  a  widowed 
guinea-hen. 

So  they  all  sat  down  on  the  soft  pine-needles, 
while  Ellis  began  his  culinary  sleight-of-hand ;  and  in 
due  time  trout  were  frying  merrily,  bacon  sputtered, 
ash-cakes  and  coffee  exhaled  agreeable  odors,  and 
mounds  of  diaphanous  flapjacks  tottered  in  hot  and 
steaming  fragrance  on  either  flank. 

There  were  but  two  plates ;  Jones  constructed  bark 
platters  for  Professor  Rawson,  Ellis  and  himself; 
Helen  Gay  shared  knife  and  fork  with  Jones ;  Molly 
Sandys  condescended  to  do  the  same  for  Ellis ;  Pro 
fessor  Rawson  had  a  set  of  those  articles  to  herself. 

And  there,  in  the  pleasant  glow  of  the  fire,  Molly 
Sandys,  cross-legged  beside  Ellis,  drank  out  of  his 
tin  cup  and  ate  his  flapjacks ;  and  Helen  Gay  said 
shyly  that  never  had  she  tasted  such  a  banquet  as  this 
forest  fare  washed  down  with  bumpers  of  icy,  aromat- 

196 


Solution  of  an  Ancient  Problem 

ic  spring  water.  As  for  Professor  Rawson,  she  lifted 
the  hem  of  her  poncho  and  discreetly  dried  that  por 
tion  of  the  Rhine-maiden's  clothing  which  needed  it ; 
and  while  she  sizzled  contentedly,  she  ate  flapjack  on 
flapjack,  and  trout  after  trout,  until  merriment 
grew  within  her  and  she  laughed  when  the  younger 
people  laughed,  and  felt  a  delightful  thrill  of  reck 
lessness  tingling  the  soles  of  her  stockings.  And 
why  not  ? 

"  It's  a  very  simple  matter,  after  all,"  declared 
Jones ;  "  it's  nothing  but  a  state  of  mind.  I  thought 
I  was  leading  a  simple  life  before  I  came  here, 
but  I  wasn't.  Why?  Merely  because  I  was  not  in 
a  state  of  mind.  But  " — and  here  he  looked  full  at 
Helen  Gay — "  but  no  sooner  had  I  begun  to  appre 
ciate  the  charm  of  the  forest  " — she  blushed  vividly 
— "  no  sooner  had  I  realised  what  these  awful  solitudes 
might  contain,  than,  instantly,  I  found  myself  in  a 
state  of  mind.  Then,  and  then  only,  I  understood 
what  heavenly  perfection  might  be  included  in  that 
frayed  and  frazzled  phrase,  '  The  Simple  Life.'  ' 

"  I  understood  it  long  ago,"  said  Ellis,  dreamily. 

"  Did  you?  "  asked  Molly  Sandys. 

"  Yes — long  ago — about  six  hours  ago  " — he 
lowered  his  voice,  for  Molly  Sandys  had  turned  her 
head  away  from  the  firelight  toward  the  cooler  shadow 
of  the  forest. 

197 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  What  happened,"  she  asked,  carelessly,  "  six 
hours  ago?  " 

"  I  first  saw  you." 

"  No,"  she  said  calmly ;  "  I  first  saw  you  and  took 
your  picture !  "  She  spoke  coolly  enough,  but  her 
color  was  bright. 

"  Ah,  but  before  that  shutter  clicked,  convicting 
me  of  a  misdemeanor,  your  picture  had  found  a 
place " 

"  Mr.  Ellis !  " 

"  Please  let  me " 

"No!" 

"  Please " 

A  silence. 

"  Then  you  must  speak  lower,"  she  said,  "  and  pre 
tend  to  be  watching  the  stream." 

Professor  Rawson  gleefully  scraped  her  plate  and 
snuggled  up  in  her  poncho.  She  was  very  happy. 
When  she  could  eat  no  more  she  asked  Jones  what 
his  theory  might  be  concerning  Wagner's  influence 
on  Richard  Strauss,  and  Jones  said  he  liked  waltzes, 
but  didn't  know  that  the  man  who  wote  The  Simple 
Life  had  anything  to  do  with  that  sort  of  thing. 
And  Professor  Rawson  laughed  and  laughed,  and 
quoted  a  Greek  proverb;  and  presently  arose  and 
went  into  the  shanty,  dropping  the  blanket  behind 
her. 

198 


Solution  of  an  Ancient  Problem 

"  Don't  sit  up  late !  "  she  called  sleepily. 

"  Oh,  no!  "  came  the  breathless  duet. 

66  And  don't  forget  to  feed  the  swan !  " 

"  Oh,  no!  " 

A  few  minutes  later  a  gentle,  mellow,  muffled  mono 
tone  vibrated  in  the  evening  air.  It  was  the  swan- 
song  of  Professor  Rawson. 

Ellis  laid  fresh  logs  on  the  blaze,  lighted  a  cigar 
ette,  and  returned  to  his  seat  beside  Molly  Sandys, 
who  sat,  swathed  in  her  poncho,  leaning  back  against 
the  base  of  a  huge  pine. 

"  Jones  is  right,"  he  said ;  "  the  simple  life — the 
older  and  simpler  emotions,  the  primal  desire — is  a 
state  of  mind." 

Molly  Sandys  was  silent. 

"  And  a  state  of— heart." 

Miss  Sandys  raised  her  eyebrows. 

"  Why  be  insincere?  "  persisted  Ellis. 

"I'm  not!" 

"  No — no — I  didn't  mean  you.  I  meant  every 
body " 

"  I'm  somebody " 

"  Indeed  you  are!  " — much  too  warmly ;  and  Molly 
Sandys  looked  up  at  the  evening  star. 

"  The  simple  life,"  said  Ellis,  "  is  an  existence  re 
plete  with  sincerity.  Impulse  may  play  a  pretty  part 
in  it ;  the  capacity  for  the  en j  oyment  of  simple  things 

199 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

grows  out  of  impulse ;  and  impulse  is  a  child's  reason 
ing.  Therefore,  impulse,  being  unsullied,  unaffected 
in  its  source,  is  to  be  respected,  cherished,  guided 
into  a  higher  development,  so  that  it  may  become  a 
sweet  reasonableness,  an  unerring  philosophy.  Am  I 
right,  Miss  Sandys  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  are." 

"  Well,  then,  following  out  my  theorem  logically, 
what  is  a  man  to  do  when,  without  an  instant's  warn 
ing,  he  finds  himself " 

There  was  a  pause,  a  long  one. 

"  Finds  himself  where?"  asked  Molly  Sandys. 

"  In  love." 

«  i_i  don't  know,"  she  said,  faintly.  "  Doesn't 
the  simple  life  teach  him  what  is — is  proper — on 
such  brief  acquaintance " 

"  I  didn't  say  the  acquaintance  was  brief ;  I  only 
said  the  love  was  sudden." 

"  Oh— then  I— I  don't  know " 

"  M-Mo-Mi-M-M " 

He  wanted  to  say  "  Molly,"  and  he  didn't  want  to 
say  "  Miss  Sandys,"  and  he  couldn't  keep  his  mouth 
shut,  so  that  was  the  phonetic  result — a  muttering 
monotone  which  embarrassed  them  both  and  mad 
dened  him  till  he  stammered  out :  "  The  moment  I  saw 
you  I — I  can't  help  it ;  it's  the  simplest  thing  to  do, 

anyhow — to  tell  you " 

200 


Solution  of  an  Ancient  Problem 

"Me!" 

"  You,  M-M-Mo-Mi-M "     He  couldn't  say  it. 

"  Try,"  she  whispered,  stifling  with  laughter. 

"  Molly !  "  Like  a  cork  from  a  popgun  came  the 
adored  yet  dreaded  name. 

Molly  turned  scarlet  as  Miss  Gay  and  Jones 
looked  up  in  pure  amazement  from  the  farther  side 
of  the  campfire. 

"Don't  you  know  how  to  make  love  ?  "  she  whis 
pered  in  a  fierce  little  voice;  "don't  you?  If  you 
don't  I  am  going  off  to  bed." 

"  Molly !  "  That  was  better — in  fact,  it  was  so 
low  that  she  could  scarcely  hear  him.  But  she  said: 
"  Doesn't  Helen  Gay  look  charming  in  her  tin  ar 
mour?  She  is  the  dearest,  sweetest  girl,  Mr.  Ellis. 
She  is  my  cousin.  Do  you  think  her  pretty?  " 

"  Do  you  know,"  whispered  Ellis,  "  that  I  am  in 
dead  earnest  ?  " 

"Why,  I— I  hope  so." 

"  Then  tell  me  what  chance  I  stand.  I  am  in  love ; 
it  came  awfully  quickly,  as  quickly  as  you  snapped 
that  kodak — but  it  has  come  to  stay " 

"  But  I  am  not  in — love. 

"  That  is  why  I  speak.  I  can't  endure  it  to  let 
you  go — Heaven  knows  where " 

"  Only  to  New  York,"  she  said,  demurely,  and,  in 
a  low  voice,  she  named  the  street  and  the  number. 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  In  an  interval  of  sanity  you  shall  have  an  oppor 
tunity  to  reflect  on  what  you  have  said  to  me,  Mr. 
Ellis.  Being  a — a  painter — and  a  rather  famous 
one — for  so  young  a  man — you  are,  no  doubt,  impul 
sive — in  love  with  love — not  with  a  girl  you  met  six 
hours  ago." 

"  But  if  I  am  in  love  with  her  ?  " 

"  We  will  argue  that  question  another  time." 

"In  New  York?" 

She  looked  at  him,  a  gay  smile  curving  her  lips. 
Suddenly  the  clear,  grey  eyes  filled;  a  soft,  impul 
sive  hand  touched  his  for  an  instant,  then  dropped. 

"  Be  careful,"  she  said,  unsteadily ;  "  so  far,  I  also 
have  only  been  in  love  with  love." 

Stunned  by  the  rush  of  emotion  he  rose  to  his  feet 
as  she  rose,  eye  meeting  eye  in  audacious  silence. 

Then  she  was  gone,  leaving  him  there — gone  like 
a  flash  into  the  camp-hut ;  he  saw  the  blanket  twitch 
ing  where  she  had  passed  behind  it;  he  heard  the 
muffled  swan-song  of  her  blanket-mate ;  he  turned  his 
enchanted  eyes  upon  Jones.  Jones,  his  elbows  on 
the  ground,  chin  on  his  palms,  was  looking  up  into 
the  rapt  face  of  Helen  Gay,  who  sat  by  the  fire,  her 
mailed  knees  gathered  up  in  her  slim  hands,  the  re 
flection  of  the  blaze  playing  scarlet  over  her  glittering 
tin  armour. 

"  Why  may  I  not  call  you  Helen  ?  "  he  was  saying. 
202 


Solution  of  an  Ancient  Problem 

"  Why  should  you,  Mr.  Jones?  " 

The  infatuated  pair  were  oblivious  of  him.  Should 
he  sneeze  ?  No ;  his  own  case  was  too  recent ;  their 
attitude  fascinated  him;  he  sat  down  softly  to  see 
how  it  was  done. 

"  If — some  day — I  might  be  fortunate  enough  to 
call  you  more  than  Helen " 

"Mr.  Jones!" 

" 1  can't  help  it ;  I  love  you  so — so  undauntedly 
that  I  have  got  to  tell  you  something  about  it !  You 
don't  mind,  do  you  ?  " 

"  But  I  do  mind." 

"  Very  much?  " 

Ellis  thought :  "  Is  that  the  way  a  man  looks  when 
he  says  things  like  that  ?  "  He  shuddered,  then  a 
tremor  of  happiness  seized  him.  Molly  Sandys  had 
emerged  from  the  hut. 

Passing  the  fire,  she  came  straight  to  Ellis.  "  It's 
horrid  in  there.  Don't  you  hear  her?  It's  muffled, 
I  know,  because  she's  taken  the  swan  to  bed  with 
her,  and  it's  asleep,  too,  and  acting  as  though  Pro 
fessor  Rawson's  head  were  a  nest-egg.  I  am  not 
sleepy ;  I — I  believe  I  shah1  sit  up  by  this  delightful 
fire  all  night.  Make  me  a  nest  of  blankets." 

Jones  and  Helen  were  looking  across  the  fire  at 
them  in  silence ;  Ellis  unrolled  some  blankets,  made  a 
nest  at  the  foot  of  the  pine  full  in  the  fire-glow. 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

Swathed  to  her  smooth  white  throat,  Molly  sank  into 
them. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  innocently,  "  we  can  talk. 
Helen!  Ask  Mr.  Jones  to  make  some  coffee.  Oh, 
thank  you,  Mr.  Jones !  Isn't  this  perfectly  delicious ! 
So  simple,  so  primitive,  so  sincere  " — she  looked  at 
Ellis — "  so  jolly.  If  the  simple  life  is  only  a  state 
of  mind  I  can  understand  how  easy  it  is  to  follow  it 
to  sheerest  happiness."  And  in  a  low  voice,  to  Ellis : 
"  Can  you  find  happiness  in  it,  too  ?  " 

Across  the  fire  Helen  called  softly  to  them :  "  Do 
you  want  some  toasted  cheese,  too?  Mr.  Jones 
knows  how  to  make  it." 

A  little  later,  Jones,  toasting  bread  and  cheese, 
heard  a  sweet  voice  softly  begin  the  Swan-Song.  It 
was  Helen.  Molly's  lovely,  velvet  voice  joined  in; 
Ellis  cautiously  tried  his  barytone;  Jones  wisely  re 
mained  mute,  and  the  cheese  sizzled  a  discreet  tremolo. 
It  was  indeed  the  swan-song  of  the  heart-whole  and 
fancy-free — the  swan-song  of  the  unawakened.  For 
the  old  order  of  things  was  passing  away — had 
passed.  And  with  the  moon  mounting  in  silvered 
splendor  over  the  forest,  the  newer  order  of  life — the 
simpler,  the  sweeter — became  so  plain  to  them  that 
they  secretly  wondered,  as  they  ate  their  toast  and 
cheese,  how  they  could  have  lived  so  long,  endured 
so  long,  the  old  and  dull  complexity  of  a  life  through 

204 


Solution  of  an  Ancient  Problem 

the  eventless  days  of  which  their  hearts  had  never 
quickened  to  the  oldest,  the  most  primitive,  the  simp 
lest  of  appeals. 

And  so,  there,  under  the  burnished  moon,  soberly 
sharing  their  toasted  cheese,  the  muffled  swan-song 
of  the  incubating  maiden  thrilling  their  enraptured 
ears,  began  for  them  that  state  of  mind  in  the  invi 
olate  mystery  of  which  the  passion  for  the  simpler 
life  is  hatched. 

"If  we  only  had  a  banjo!"  sighed  Helen. 

"  I  have  a  jew's-harp,"  ventured  Jones.  "  I  am 
not  very  musical,  but  every  creature  likes  to  emit 
some  sort  of  melody." 

Ellis  laughed. 

"Why  not?"  asked  Helen  Gay,  quickly;  "after 
all,  what  simpler  instrument  can  you  wish  for?" 
And  she  laughed  at  Jones  in  a  way  that  left  him  light 
headed. 

So  there,  in  the  moonlight  and  the  shadows  of  the 
primeval  pines,  Jones — simplest  of  men  with  simplest 
of  names — produced  the  simplest  of  all  musical  in 
struments,  and,  looking  once  into  the  beautiful  eyes 
of  Helen,  quietly  began  the  simplest  of  all  melodies — 
the  Spanish  Fandango. 

And  for  these  four  the  simple  life  began. 

I  waited  for  a  few  moments,  but  Williams  seemed 
205 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

to  consider  that  there  was  nothing  more  to  add.  So 
I  said: 

"  Did  they  marry  those  two  girls  ?  " 

He  glanced  at  me  in  a  preoccupied  manner  with 
out  apparently  understanding. 

"Did  they  marry  'em?"  I  repeated,  impatiently. 

"What?     Oh,  yes,  of  course." 

"  Then  why  didn't  you  say  so  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  have  to  say  so.  Didn't  you  notice  the 
form  in  which  I  ended  ?  " 

"  What's  that  got  to  do  with  it?  You're  not  tell 
ing  me  a  short  story,  you're  telling  me  what  really 
happened.  And  what  really  happens  never  ends  ar 
tistically." 

"  It  does  when  I  tell  it,"  he  said,  with  a  self-satis 
fied  smile.  "  Let  Fate  do  its  worst ;  let  old  man 
Destiny  get  in  his  work ;  let  Chance  fix  up  things  to 
suit  herself.  I  wait  until  that  trio  finishes,  then  / 
step  in  and  tell  the  truth  in  my  own  way.  And,  by 
gad !  when  I  get  through,  Fate,  Chance,  and  Destiny 
set  up  a  yell  of  impotent  fury  and  Truth  looks  at  her 
self  in  the  mirror  in  delighted  astonishment,  amazed 
to  discover  in  herself  attractions  which  she  never 
suspected." 

"  In  other  words,"  said  I,  "  Fate  no  longer  has 
the  final  say-so." 

"  Not  while  the  short-story  writer  exists,"  he 
206 


Solution  of  an  Ancient  Problem 

grinned.  "  It's  up  to  him.  Fate  slaps  your  face 
midway  in  a  pretty  romance.  All  right.  But  when 
I  make  a  record  of  the  matter  I  pick,  choose,  sort,  re- 
assort  my  box  of  words,  and  when  things  are  going 
too  rapidly  I  wink  at  Fate  with  my  tongue  in  my 
cheek  and  round  up  everybody  so  amiably  that  no 
body  knows  exactly  what  did  happen — and  nobody 
even  stops  to  think  because  everybody  has  already 
finished  the  matter  in  their  own  minds  to  their  own 
satisfaction." 


CHAPTER    XVII 

SHOWING   HOW   IT  IS    POSSIBLE   FOR  ANY  MAN   TO   MAKE 
OF  HIMSELF  A  CHUMP 

A'TER  a  while  I  repeated:  "They  did  marry, 
didn't  they?" 

"What  do  you  think?" 
"  I'm  perfectly  certain  they  did." 
"  Well,  then,  what  more  do  you  want?  "  he  laughed. 
66  Another  of  your  reminiscences  disguised  as  fic 
tion,"  I  said,  tinkling  my  spoon  on  the  edge  of  my 
tumbler  to  attract  the  waiter. 

"  Two  more,"  I  said,  lighting  a  caporal  cigarette, 
the  penetrating  aroma  of  which  drifted  lazily  through 
forgotten  years,  drawing  memory  with  it  in  its  frag 
rant  back-draught. 

"  Do  you  remember  Seabury's  brother  ?  "  he  asked. 
208 


Any  Man  Can  Make  Himself  a  Chump 

"  Beaux  Arts  ?  Certainly.  Architect,  wasn't 
he?" 

"  Yes,  but  he  came  into  a  lot  of  money  and  started 
for  home  to  hit  a  siding." 

"Little  chump,"  I  said ;  "  I  remember  him* 
There  was  a  promising  architect  spoiled." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  He  is  doing  a  lot  to  his- 
money." 

"Good?" 

"  Of  course.  Otherwise  I  should  have  said  that 
his  money  is  doing  a  lot  to  him." 

"  Cut  out  these  fine  shades  and  go  back  to  galley- 
proof,"  I  said,  sullenly.  "  What  about  him,  any 
way?  " 

Williams  said,  slowly :  "  A  thing  happened  to  that 
man  which  had  no  right  to  happen  anywhere  except 
in  a  musical  comedy.  But,"  he  shrugged  his  shoul 
ders,  "  everybody's  lives  are  really  full  of  equally 
grotesque  episodes.  The  trouble  is  that  the  world  is 
too  serious  to  discover  any  absurdity  in  itself.  We 
writers  have  to  do  that  for  it.  "  For  example,  there 
was  Seabury's  brother.  Trouble  began  the  moment 
he  saw  her." 

"  Saw  who  ?  "  I  interrupted. 

"  Saw  her !    Shut  up  !  " 

I  did  so.     He  continued: 

15  209 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

They  encountered  one  another  under  the  electric 
lights  in  the  wooden  labyrinth  which  forms  the  ferry 
terminal  of  the  Sixth  Avenue  Elevated  Railroad,  she 
hastening  one  way,  he  hurrying  the  opposite.  There 
was  ample  room  for  them  to  pass  each  other ;  it  may 
have  been  because  she  was  unusually  pretty,  it  may 
have  been  his  absent-mindedness,  but  he  made  one  of 
those  mistakes  which  everybody  makes  once  in 
a  lifetime:  he  turned  to  the  left,  realised  what  he 
was  doing,  wheeled  hastily  to  the  right — as  she, 
too,  turned — only  to  meet  her  face  to  face,  po 
litely  dodge,  meet  again,  lose  his  head  and  begin  a 
heart-breaking  contra-dance,  until,  vexed  and  be 
wildered,  she  stood  perfectly  still,  and  he,  redder 
than  she,  took  the  opportunity  to  slink  past  her  and 
escape. 

"  Hey !  "  said  a  sarcastic  voice,  as,  blinded  with 
chagrin,  he  found  himself  attempting  to  force  a 
locked  wooden  gate.  "  You  want  to  go  the  other 
way,  unless  you're  hunting  for  the  third  rail." 

"  No,  I  don't,"  he  said,  wrathfully ;  "  I  want  to  go 
uptown." 

"  That's  what  I  said ;  you  want  to  go  the  other 
way,  even  if  you  don't  know  where  you  want  to  go," 
yawned  the  gateman  disdainfully. 

Seabury  collected  his  scattered  wits  and  gazed 
about  him.  Being  a  New  Yorker,  and  acquainted 

210 


Any  Man  Can  Make  Himself  a  Chump 

with  the  terminal  labyrinth,  he  very  quickly  discov 
ered  his  error,  and,  gripping  suit-case  and  golf-bag 
more  firmly,  he  turned  and  retraced  his  steps  at  the 
natural  speed  of  a  good  New  Yorker,  which  is  a  sort 
of  a  meaningless  lope. 

Jammed  into  the  familiar  ticket  line,  he  peered 
ahead  through  the  yellow  glare  of  light  and  saw  the 
charming  girl  with  whom  he  had  danced  his  foolish 
contra-dance  just  receiving  her  ticket  from  the  boxed 
automaton.  Also,  to  his  satisfaction,  he  observed 
her  disappear  through  the  turnstile  into  the  crush 
surging  forward  alongside  of  the  cars,  and,  when  he 
presently  deposited  his  own  ticket  in  the  chopper's 
box,  he  had  no  more  expectation  of  ever  again  seeing 
her  than  he  had  of  doing  something  again  to  annoy 
and  embarrass  her. 

But  even  in  Manhattan  Destiny  works  overtime,, 
and  Fate  gets  busy  in  a  manner  that  no  man  know- 
eth;  and  so,  personally  though  invisibly  conducted, 
Seabury  lugged  his  suit-case  and  golf-bag  aboard  a, 
train,  threaded  his  way  into  a  stuffy  car  and  took 
the  only  empty  seat  remaining;  and  a  few  seconds 
later,  glancing  casually  at  his  right-hand  neighbour, 
he  blushed  to  find  himself  squeezed  into  a  seat  beside 
his  unusually  attractive  partner  in  the  recent  con 
tra-dance. 

That  she  had  already  seen  him,  the  calm  indiffer- 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

•ence  in  her  blue  eyes,  the  poise  of  her  flushed  face, 
were  evidence  conclusive. 

He  shrank  back,  giving  her  all  the  room  he  could, 
set  his  bag  of  golf-clubs  between  his  knees,  and 
looked  innocent.  First,  as  all  New  Yorkers  do,  he 
read  the  line  of  advertisements  opposite  with  the 
usual  personal  sense  of  resentment ;  then  he  carelessly 
scanned  the  people  across  the  aisle.  As  usual,  they 
resembled  everybody  he  had  never  particularly  no 
ticed;  he  fished  out  the  evening  paper,  remembered 
that  he  had  read  it  on  the  ferryboat,  stuck  it  into  his 
golf-bag,  and  contemplated  the  battered  ends  of  his 
golf-clubs. 

Station  after  station  flashed  yellow  lamps  along 
the  line  of  car  windows ;  passengers  went  and  passen 
gers  took  their  places ;  in  one  of  the  streets  below 
he  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  fire  engine  vomiting  sparks 
and  black  smoke ;  in  another  an  ambulance  with  a 
squalid  assemblage  crowded  around  a  policeman 
who  was  emerging  from  a  drug  store. 

He  had  pretty  nearly  succeeded  in  forgetting  the 
girl  and  his  mortification;  he  cast  a  calmly  casual 
glance  over  his  well-fitting  trousers  and  shoes.  The 
edge  of  a  shoe-lace  lay  exposed,  and  he  leisurely  rem 
edied  this  untidy  accident,  leaning  over  and  tying 
the  lace  securely  with  a  double  knot. 

Fourteenth,    Eighteenth,    Twenty-third,    ran    the 


Any  Man  Can  Make  Himself  a  Chump 

stations.  He  gathered  his  golf-bag  instinctively  and 
sat  alert,  prepared  to  rise  and  leave  the  car  with 
dignity. 

"  Twenty-eighth !  "  It  was  his  station.  Just  as 
he  rose  the  attractive  girl  beside  him  sprang  up,  and 
at  the  same  instant  his  right  leg  was  jerked  from 
under  him  and  he  sat  down  in  his  seat  with  violence. 
Before  he  comprehended  what  had  happened,  the 
girl,  with  a  startled  exclamation,  fell  back  into  her 
seat,  and  he  felt  a  spasmodic  wrench  at  his  foot 
again. 

Astonished,  he  struggled  to  rise  once  more,  but 
something  held  him — his  foot  seemed  to  be  caught; 
and  as  he  turned  he  encountered  her  bewildered  face 
and  felt  another  desperate  tug  which  brought  him. 
abruptly  into  his  seat  again. 

"  What  on  earth  is  the  matter?  "  he  asked. 

"  I — I  don't  know,"  she  stammered ;  "  my  shoe 
seems  to  be  tied  to  yours." 

"  Tied ! "  he  cried,  bending  down  in  a  panic, 
"wasn't  that  my  shoe-lace?"  His  golf-bag  fell,  he 
seized  it  and  set  it  against  the  seat  between  them. 
"  Hold  it  a  moment,"  he  groaned.  "  I  tied  your  shoe 
lace  to  mine !  " 

"  You  tied  it !  "  she  repeated,  furiously. 

"  I  saw  a  shoe-lace — I  thought  it  was  mine — I  tied 

it  fast — in  a  d-d-double  knot " 

213 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  Untie  it  at  once !  "  she  said,  crimson  to  the  roots 
of  her  hair. 

"  Great  Heavens,  madam  !  I  didn't  mean  to  do  it ! 
I'll  fix  it  in  a  moment " 

"  Don't,"  she  whispered,  fiercely ;  "  the  people  op 
posite  are  looking  at  us !  Do  you  wish  to  hold  us 
both  up  to  ridicule?  "  He  straightened  up,  thor 
oughly  flurried. 

"  But — this  is  my  station — "  he  began. 

"  It  is  mine,  too.  I'd  rather  sit  here  all  night  than 
have  those  people  see  you  untie  your  shoe  from  mine ! 
How — how  could  you " 

"  I've  explained  that  I  didn't  mean  to  do  it,"  he 
returned,  dropping  into  the  breathless  undertone  in 
which  she  spoke.  "  Happening  to  glance  down,  I 
saw  a  shoe-lace  end  and  thought  my  shoe  was  un 
tied " 

She  looked  at  him  scornfully. 

"  And  I  tied  it  tight,  that's  all.  I'm  horribly  mor 
tified  ;  this  is  the  second  time  I've  appeared  to  dis- 
.advant  age ' ' 

"  People  in  New  York  usually  turn  to  the  right ; 
even  horses " 

"  I  doubt,"  he  said,  "  that  you  can  make  me  feel 
much  worse  than  I  feel  now,  but  it's  a  sort  of  a  hor 
rible  relief  to  know  what  a  fool  you  think  me." 

She  said  nothing,   sitting  there,  cooling  her  hot 


'  I — I    don't    know/   she   stammered  ;    e  my   shoe  seems 
tied  to  yours.'  ' 


Any  Man  Can  Make  Himself  a  Chump 

face  in  the  breeze  from  the  forward  door ;  he,  numb 
with  chagrin,  stole  an  apprehensive  glance  at  the 
passengers  opposite.  Nobody  appeared  to  have  ob 
served  their  plight,  and  he  ventured  to  say  so  in  a 
low  voice. 

"Are  you  certain?"  she  asked,  her  own  voice  not 
quite  steady. 

"  Perfectly.    Look !    Nobody  is  eying  our  feet." 

Her  own  small  feet  were  well  tucked  up  under  her 
gown ;  she  instinctively  drew  them  farther  in ;  he  felt 
a  little  tug;  they  both  coloured  furiously. 

"  This  is  simply  unspeakable,"  she  said,  looking 
straight  ahead  of  her  through  two  bright  tears  of 
mortification. 

"  Suppose,"  he  whispered,  "  you  edge  your  foot  a 
trifle  this  way — I  think  I  can  cut  that  knot  with 
my  penknife — "  He  glanced  about  him  stealthily. 
"Shall  I  try?" 

"  Not  now.     Wait  until  those  people  go." 

"  But  some  of  them  may  live  in  Harlem." 

"  I — I  can't  help  it.  Do  you  suppose  I'm  going 
to  let  you  lean  over  before  all  those  people  and  try 
to  untie  our  shoes?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  to  sit  here  until  they're  all  gone  ?  " 
he  asked,  appalled. 

"  I  do.  Terrible  as  the  situation  is,  we've  got  ta 
conceal  it." 

215 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  Even  if  some  of  them  go  to  the  end  of  the  line?  " 

"  I  don't  care !  "  She  turned  on  him  with  a  hint 
of  that  pretty  fierceness  again.  "  Do  you  know  what 
you've  done?  You've  affronted  and  mortified  me  and 
humiliated  me  beyond  endurance.  I  have  a  guest  to 
dine  with  me :  I  shall  not  arrive  before  midnight !  " 

"  Do  you  suppose,"  he  said  miserably,  "  that  any 
thing  you  say  can  add  to  my  degradation?  Can't 
you  imagine  how  a  man  must  feel  who  first  of  all 
makes  a  four-footed  fool  of  himself  before  the  most 
attractive  girl  he " 

"  Don't  say  that !  "  she  cried,  hotly. 

"  Yes,  I  will !  You  are !  And  I  dodged  and  tum 
bled  about  like  a  headless  chicken  and  ran  into  the 
wrong  gate.  I  wish  I'd  climbed  out  on  the  third  rail ! 
And  then,  when  I  hoped  I'd  never  see  you  again,  I 
found  myself  beside  you,  and — Good  Heavens !  I  lost 
no  time  in  beginning  my  capers  again  and  doing 
the  most  abandoned  deed  a  man  ever  accomplished  on 
earth!" 

She  appeared  to  be  absorbed  in  contemplation  of 
a  breakfast-food  advertisement ;  her  color  was  still 
high;  at  times  she  worried  her  under  lip  with  her 
white  teeth,  but  her  breath  rose  and  fell  under  the 
fluffy  bosom  of  her  gown  with  more  regularity,  and 
the  two  bright  tears  in  her  eyes  had  dried  unshed. 
Wrath  may  have  dried  them. 

216 


Any  Man  Can  Make  Himself  a  Chump 

"  I  wish  it  were  possible,"  he  said  very  humbly, 
"  for  you  to  see  the  humour " 

"  Humour !  "  she  repeated,  menacingly. 

«  NO — I  didn't  mean  that,  I  meant  the — the " 

"  You  did !  You  meant  the  humour  of  the  situa 
tion.  I  will  answer  you.  I  do  not  see  the  humour 
of  it!" 

"  You  are  quite  right,"  he  admitted,  looking  fur 
tively  at  the  edge  of  her  gown  which  concealed  his 
right  foot.  "  It  is,  as  you  say,  simply  ghastly  to  be 
tied  together  by  the  feet.  Don't  you  suppose  I  could 
— without  awakening  suspicion — cut  the — the  laces 
with  a  penknife?  " 

"  I  beg  you  will  attempt  nothing  whatever  until 
this  car  is  empty." 

"  Certainly,"  he  said.  "  I  will  do  anything  in  the 
world  I  can  to  spare  you." 

She  did  not  reply,  and  he  sat  there  nervously  bal 
anced  on  the  edge  of  his  seat,  watching  the  lights  of 
Harlem  flash  into  view  below.  He  had  been  hungry ; 
he  was  no  longer.  Appetite  had  been  succeeded  by  a 
gnawing  anxiety.  Again  and  again  warm  waves  of 
shame  overwhelmed  him,  alternating  with  a  sort  of 
wild-eyed  pity  for  the  young  girl  who  sat  so  rig 
idly  beside  him,  face  averted.  Once  a  mad  desire 
to  laugh  seized  him;  he  wondered  whether  it  might 
be  a  premonition  of  hysteria,  and  shuddered.  It  did 

217 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

not  seem  as  though  he  could  possibly  endure  it  an 
other  second  to  be  tied  by  the  foot  to  this  silently 
suffering  and  lovely  companion. 

"  Do  you  think,"  he  said,  hoarsely,  "  at  the 
next  station  that  if  we  rose  together — and  kept 
step " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  A — a  sort  of  lock-step,"  he  explained,  timidly. 

"  I  would  if  I  thought  it  possible,"  she  replied  un 
der  her  breath ;  "  but  I  dare  not.  Suppose  you 
should  miss  step !  You  are  likely  to  do  anything  if 
it's  only  sufficiently  foolish." 

"  You  could  take  my  arm  and  pretend  you  are  my 
lame  sister,"  he  ventured. 

"  Suppose  the  train  started.  Suppose,  by  any  one 
of  a  thousand  possible  accidents,  you  should  become 
panic-stricken.  What  sort  of  a  spectacle  would  we 
furnish  the  passengers  of  this  car?  No!  No!  No! 
The  worst  of  it  is  almost  over.  My  guest  is  there — 
astounded  at  my  absence.  Before  I  am  even  half-way 
back  to  Twenty-eighth  Street  she  will  have  become 
sufficiently  affronted  to  leave  the  house.  I  might  as 
well  go  on  to  the  end  of  the  road."  She  turned 
toward  him  hastily :  "  Where  is  the  end  of  this 
road?" 

"  Somewhere  in  the  Bronx,  I  believe,"  he  said, 
vaguely. 

218 


Any  Man  Can  Make  Himself  a  Chump 

"  That  is  hours  from  Twenty-eighth  Street,  isn't 
it?" 

"  I  believe  so." 

The  train  whirled  on ;  stations  were  far  between, 
now.  He  sat  so  silent,  so  utterly  broken  and  down 
cast,  that  after  a  long  while  she  turned  to  him  with 
a  hint  of  softness  in  her  stern  reserve. 

"  Of  course,"  she  said,  "  I  do  not  suppose  you  de 
liberately  intended  to  tie  our  feet  together.  I  am 
not  absurd.  But  the  astonishment,  the  horror  of 
finding  what  you  had  done  exasperated  me  for  a  mo 
ment.  I'm  cool  enough  now ;  besides,  it  is  perfectly 
plain  that  you  are  the  sort  of  man  one  is — is  accus 
tomed  to  know." 

"  I  hope  not !  "  he  said,  devoutly. 

"  Oh,  I  mean — "  She  hesitated,  and  the  glimmer 
of  a  smile  touched  her  eyes,  instantly  extinguished, 
however. 

"  I  understand,"  he  said.  "  You  mean  that  it's 
lucky  your  shoe-laces  are  tied  to  the  shoe-lace  of  a 
man  of  your  own  sort.  I  hope  to  Heaven  you  may 
find  a  little  comfort  in  that." 

"  I  do,"  she  said,  with  the  uncertain  violet  light  in 
her  eyes  again.  "  It's  bad  enough,  goodness  knows, 
but  I — I  am  very  sure  you  did  not  mean " 

"  You  are  perfectly  right ;  I  mean  well,  as  they 
say  of  all  chumps.  And  the  worst  of  it  is,"  he  added, 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

wildly,  "  I  never  before  knew  that  I  was  a  chump ! 
I  never  before  saw  any  symptoms.  Would  you  be 
lieve  me,  I  never  in  all  my  life  have  been  such  an  idiot 
as  I  was  in  those  first  few  minutes  that  I  crossed  your 
path.  How  on  earth  to  account  for  it ;  how  to  ex 
plain,  to  ask  pardon,  to — to  ever  forget  it !  As  long 
as  I  live  I  shall  wake  at  night  with  the  dreadful  cha 
grin  burning  my  ears  off.  Isn't  it  the  limit?  And 
I — I  shouldn't  have  felt  so  crushed  if  it  had  been 
anybody  excepting  you " 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  she  said  gravely. 

"  I  do,"  he  muttered. 


THE    MASTER    KNOT    OF    HUMAN    FATE 

THE  conversation  dropped  there:  she  gazed 
thoughtfully  out  upon  the  Teutonic  magnifi 
cence  of  One  Hundred  and  Twenty-fifth  Street 
by  gaslight ;  he,  arms  folded,  relapsed  into  bitter  con 
templation  of  the  breakfast-food.  So  immersed  he 
became  in  the  picture  of  an  unctuous  little  boy  stuff 
ing  himself  to  repletion  under  the  admiring  smirk 
of  a  benevolent  parent  that  he  forgot  his  manacles, 
and  attempting  to  stretch  his  cramped  leg,  returned 
to  his  senses  in  a  hurry. 

"  I  think,"  she  suggested,  quietly,  "  that,  if  you 
care  to  stretch,  I  would'nt  mind  it,  either.  Can  you 
do  it  discreetly?  " 

"  I'll  try,"  he  said  in  a  whisper.  "  Shall  I  count 
three?" 

She  nodded. 


The  Adventures  of  a*  Modest  Man 

"  One,  two,  three,"  he  counted,  and  they  cautiously 
stretched  their  legs. 

"  I  now  know  how  the  Siamese  twins  felt,"  he  said, 
sullenly.  "  No  wonder  they  died  young." 

She  laughed — a  curious,  little  laugh  which  was 
one  of  the  most  agreeable  sounds  he  had  ever  heard. 

"  I  take  it  for  granted,"  he  said,  "  that  you  will 
always  cherish  for  me  a  wholesome  and  natural  ha 
tred." 

"  I  shall  never  see  you  again,"  she  replied,  simply. 

That  silenced  him  for  a  while;  he  fished  about  in 
his  intellect  to  find  mitigating  circumstances.  There 
was  none  that  he  knew  of. 

"  Suppose — under  pleasanter  auspices,  wre  should 
some  day  meet?  "  he  suggested. 

"  We  never  shall." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"It  is  scarcely  worth  while  speculating  upon  such 
an  improbability,"  she  said,  coldly. 

"  But— suppose " 

She  turned  toward  him.  "  You  desire  to  know 
what  my  attitude  would  be  toward  you?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do." 

"  It  would  be  one  of  absolutely  amiable  indiffer 
ence — if  you  really  wish  to  know,"  she  said  so  sweetly 
that  he  was  quite  sure  his  entire  body  shrank  at  least 
an  inch. 

222 


The  Master  Knot  of  Human  Fate 

"  By  the  way,"  she  added,  "  the  last  passenger 
has  left  this  car." 

"  By  Jove !  "  he  exclaimed,  sitting  bolt  upright. 
"  Now's  our  time.  Would  you  mind " 

"  With  the  very  greatest  pleasure,"  she  said, 
quickly ;  "  please  count  one,  two,  three." 

He  counted;  there  came  a  discreet  movement, 
and  from  under  the  hem  of  her  gown  there  ap 
peared  a  dainty  shoe,  accompanied  by  a  larger 
masculine  companion.  He  bent  down,  his  fingers 
seemed  to  be  all  thumbs,  and  he  grew  redder  and 
redder. 

"  Perhaps  I  can  do  it,"  she  said,  stripping  off  her 
gloves  and  bending  over.  A  stray  tendril  of  bright 
hair  brushed  his  cheek  as  their  heads  almost  came 
together. 

"  Goodness,  what  a  dreadful  knot !  "  she  breathed, 
her  smooth  fingers  busy.  The  perfume  of  her  hair, 
her  gloves,  her  gown  thrilled  him;  he  looked  at  her 
face,  now  flushed  with  effort;  his  eyes  fell  on  her 
delicate  hands,  her  distractingly  pretty  foot,  in  its 
small,  polished  shoe. 

"  Patience,"  she  said,  calmly ;  "  this  knot  must 
give  way " 

"  If  it  doesn't " 

"  Madness  lies  that  way,"  she  breathed.  "  Wait ! 
Don't  dare  to  move  your  foot !  " 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"We  are  approaching  a  station;  shall  I  cut  it?  " 
he  asked. 

"  No— wait !  I  think  I  have  solved  it.  There !  " 
she  cried  with  a  breathless  laugh.  "  We  are  free !  " 

There  was  not  an  instant  to  lose,  for  the  train 
had  already  stopped;  they  arose  with  one  accord 
and  hurried  out  into  the  silvery  Harlem  moonlight — 
which  does  not,  perhaps,  differ  from  normal  moon 
light,  although  it  seemed  to  him  to  do  astonishing 
tricks  with  her  hair  and  figure  there  on  the  deserted 
platform,  turning  her  into  the  loveliest  and  most  un 
real  creature  he  had  ever  seen  in  all  his  life. 

"  There  ought  to  be  a  train  pretty  soon,"  he  said 
cheerfully. 

She  did  not  answer. 

"  Do  you  mind  my  speaking  to  you  now  that  we 
are " 

"Untethered?"  she  said  with  a  sudden  little 
flurry  of  laughter.  "  Oh,  no ;  why  should  I  care 
what  happens  to  me  now,  after  taking  a  railroad 
journey  tied  to  the  shoe-strings  of  an  absent-minded 
stranger  ?  " 

"  Please  don't   speak   so — so  heartlessly " 

"  Heartlessly  ?  What  have  hearts  to  do  with  this 
evening's  lunacy  ?  "  she  asked,  coolly. 

He  had  an  idea,  an  instinctive  premonition,  but  it 
was  no  explanation  to  offer  her. 


The  Master  Knot  of  Human  Fate 

Far  away  up  the  track  the  starlike  headlight  of  a 
train  glittered ;  he  called  her  attention  to  it,  and  she 
nodded.  Neither  spoke  for  a  long  while ;  the  head 
light  grew  larger  and  yellower;  the  vicious  little 
train  came  whizzing  in,  slowed,  halted  with  a  jolt. 
He  put  her  aboard  and  followed  into  a  car  absolutely 
empty  save  for  themselves.  When  they  had  gravely 
seated  themselves  side  by  side  she  looked  around  at 
him  and  said  without  particular  severity :  "  I  can 
see  no  reason  for  our  going  back  together ;  can 
you?" 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  with  such  inoffensive  and 
guileless  conviction  that  she  was  silent. 

He  went  on  presently :  "  Monstrous  as  my  stupid 
ity  is,  monumental  ass  as  I  must  appear  to  you,  I 
am,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  rather  a  decent  fellow — the 
sort  of  man  a  girl  need  not  flay  alive  to  punish." 

"  I  do  not  desire  to  punish  you.  I  do  not  expect 
to  know  you " 

"  Do  you  mean  '  expect,'  or  '  desire  '  ?  " 

"  I  mean  both,  if  you  insist."  There  was  a  sud 
den  glimmer  in  her  clear  eyes  that  warned  him;  but 
he  went  on: 

"  I  beg  you  to  give  me  a  chance  to  prove  myself 
not  such  a  clown  as  you  think  me." 

"  But  I  don't  think  about  you  at  all !  "  she  ex 
plained. 

16  225 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  Won't  you  give  me  a  chance  ?  " 

"How?" 

"  Somebody  you — we  both  know — I  mean  to 
say " 

"  You  mean,  will  I  sit  here  and  compare  notes  with 
you  to  find  out  whether  we  both  know  Tom,  Dick, 
and  Harry?  No,  I  will  not." 

"  I  mean — so  that — if  you  don't  mind — somebody 
can  vouch  for  me " 

"  No,"  she  said,  decisively. 

"  I  mean — I  would  be  so  grateful — and  I  admire 
you  tremendously ; 

"  Please  do  not  say  that." 

"  No — I  won't,  of  course ;  I  don't  admire  any 
body  very  much,  and  I  didn't  dream  of  being  offen 
sive — only — I — now  that  I've  known  you — 

"  You  don't  know  me,"  she  observed,  icily. 

"  No,  of  course,  I  don't  know  you  at  all ;  I'm  only 
talking  to  you " 

"  A  nice  comment  upon  us  both,"  she  observed ; 
"could  anything  be  more  pitifully  common?" 

"  But  being  tied  together,  how  could  we  avoid 
talking  about  it?  "  he  pleaded.  "  When  you're  tied 
up  like  that  to  a  person,  it's  per — permitted  to 
speak,  you  know " 

"  We  talked  entirely  too  much,"  she  said  with  de 
cision.  "  Now  we  are  not  tied  at  all,  and  I  do  not 

226 


The  Master  Knot  of  Human  Fate 

see  what  decent  excuse  we  can  have  for  conversing 
about  anything.  .  .  .  Do  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do." 

"  What  excuse?  "  she  asked. 

"  Well,  for  one  thing,  a  sense  of  humour.  A  nice 
spectacle  we  should  be,  you  in  one  otherwise  empty 
car,  I  in  another,  bored  to  death " 

"  Do  you  think,"  she  said,  impatiently,  "  that  I 
require  anybody's  society  to  save  myself  from 
ennui?  " 

"  No— but  I  require " 

"  That  is  impertinent !  " 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  be ;  you  must  know  that !  "  he 
said. 

She  looked  out  of  the  window. 

"  I  wonder,"  he  began  in  a  cheerful  and  speculative 
tone,  taking  courage  from  her  silence — "  I  wonder 
whether  you  know " 

"  I  will  not  discuss  people  I  know  with  you,"  she 
said. 

"  Then  let  us  discuss  people  I  know,"  he  rejoined,, 
amiably. 

"  Please  don't." 

"  Please  let  me " 

"  No." 

"  Are  you  never  going  to  forgive  me?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  shall  forget,"  she  said,  meaningly. 
227 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"Me?" 

"  Certainly." 

"  Please  don't " 

"  You  are  always  lingering  dangerously  close  to 
the  border  of  impertinence,"  she  said.  "  I  do  not 
wish  to  be  rude  or  ungracious.  I  have  been  unpar- 
donably  annoyed,  and — when  I  consider  my  present 
false  situation — I  am  annoyed  still  more.  Let  me  be 
unmistakably  clear  and  concise ;  I  do  not  feel  any — 
-anger — toward  you ;  I  have  no  feeling  whatever 
toward  you;  and  I  do  not  ever  expect  to  see  you 
again.  Let  it  rest  so.  I  will  drop  you  my  best  curt 
sey  when  you  lift  your  hat  to  me  at  Twenty-ninth 
Street.  Can  a  guilty  man  ask  more?  " 

"  Your  punishment  is  severe,"  he  said,  flushing. 

"My  punishment?  Who  am  I  punishing,  if  you 
please?" 

"  Me." 

"  What  folly !  I  entertain  no  human  emotions 
toward  you ;  I  have  no  desire  to  punish  you.  How 
could  I  punish  you — if  I  wished  to?  " 

"  By  doing  what  you  are  doing." 

"  And  what  is  that  ?  "  she  asked  rather  softly. 

"  Denying  me  any  hope  of  ever  knowing  you." 

"  You  are  unfair,"  she  said,  biting  her  lip.  "  I 
do  not  deny  you  that  '  hope,'  as  you  choose  to  call 
it.  Consider  a  moment.  Had  you  merely  seen  me 

228 


The  Master  Knot  of  Human  Fate 

on  the  train  you  could  not  have  either  hoped  or  even 
desired  ever  to  know  me.  Suppose  for  a  moment — " 
she  flushed,  but  her  voice  was  cool  and  composed 
— "  suppose  you  were  attracted  to  me — thought 
me  agreeable  to  look  at?  You  surely  would  never 
have  dreamed  of  speaking  to  me  and  asking  such  a 
thing.  Why,  then,  should  you  take  unfair  advan 
tage  of  an  accident  and  ask  it  now?  You  have  no 
right  to — nor  have  I  to  accord  you  what  you  say 
you  desire." 

She  spoke  very  sweetly,  meeting  his  eyes  without 
hesitation. 

"  May  I  reply  to  you?  "  he  asked  soberly. 

"  Yes — if  you  wish." 

"  You  will  not  take  it  as  an  affront  ?  " 

"  Not — not  if — "  She  looked  at  him.  "  No,"  she 
said. 

"  Then  this  is  my  reply :  Wherever  I  might  have 
seen  you  I  should  instantly  have  desired  to  know  you. 
That  desire  would  have  caused  you  no  inquietude; 
I  should  have  remained  near  you  without  offense, 
perfectly  certain  in  my  own  mind  that  somehow  and 
somewhere  I  must  manage  to  know  you ;  and  to  that 
end — always  without  offense,  and  without  your 
knowledge — I  should  have  left  the  train  when  you 
did,  satisfied  myself  where  you  lived,  and  then  I 
should  have  scoured  the  city,  and  moved  heaven  and 

229 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

earth  to  find  the  proper  person  who  might  properly 
ask  your  permission  to  receive  me.  That  is  what  I 
should  have  done  if  I  had  remained  thirty  seconds 
in  the  same  car  with  you.  .  .  .  Are  you  offended?  " 

"  No,"  she  said. 

They  journeyed  on  for  some  time,  saying  nothing; 
she,  young  face  bent,  sensitive  lips  adroop,  perhaps 
considering  what  he  said ;  he,  cradling  his  golf-sticks, 
trying  to  keep  his  eyes  off  her  and  succeeding  very 
badly. 

"  I  wonder  what  your  name  is  ?  "  she  said,  looking 
up  at  him. 

"  James  Seabury,"  he  replied  so  quickly  that  it 
was  almost  pathetic. 

She  mused,  frowning  a  little :  "  Where  have  I 
heard  your  name?  "  she  asked  with  an  absent-minded 
glance  at  him. 

"  Oh — er — around,  I  suppose,"  he  suggested, 
vaguely. 

"  But  I  have  heard  it.     Are  you  famous  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  he  said  quickly.  "  I'm  an  architect,  or 
ought  to  be.  Fact  is,  I'm  so  confoundedly  busy 
golfing  and  sailing  and  fishing  and  shooting  and 
hunting  that  I  have  very  little  time  for  business." 

"  What  a  confession !  "  she  exclaimed,  laughing 
outright;  and  the  beauty  that  transfigured  her  took 
his  breath  away.  But  her  laughter  was  brief,  her 

230 


The  Master  Knot  of  Human  Fate 

eyes   grew   more   serious    than    ever :    "  So    you   are 
not  in  business  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  I  am  employed,"  she  said  calmly,  looking  at  him. 

"  Are  you?  "  he  said,  astonished. 

"  So,  you  see,"  she  added  gaily,  "  I  should  have 
very  little  time  to  see  anybody " 

"  You  mean  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  you,  for  example." 

"  You  don't  work  all  the  while,  do  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Usually." 

"All  the  time?" 

"  I  dine — at  intervals." 

"  That's  the  very  thing !  "  he  said  with  enthusi 
asm. 

She  looked  at  him  gravely. 

"  Don't  you  see,"  he  went  on,  "  as  soon  as  you'll 
let  me  know  you  my  sister  will  call,  and  then  you'll 
call,  and  then  my  sister  will  invite " 

She  was  suddenly  laughing  again — a  curious 
laugh,  quite  free  and  unguarded. 

"  Of  course,  you'll  tell  your  sister  how  we  met," 
she  suggested ;  "  she'll  be  so  anxious  to  know  me 
when  she  hears  all  about  it." 

"  Do  you  suppose,"  he  said  coolly,  "  that  I  don't 
know  one  of  my  own  sort  whenever  or  however  I  hap 
pen  to  meet  her?  " 

231 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  Men  cannot  always  tell ;  I  grant  you  women  sel 
dom  fail  in  placing  one  another  at  first  glance ;  but 
men  rarely  possess  that  instinct.  .  .  .  Besides,  I  tell 
you  I  am  employed." 

"  What  of  it  ?  Even  if  you  wore  the  exceedingly 
ornamental  uniform  of  a  parlor-maid  it  could  not 
worry  me." 

"  Do  you  think  your  sister  would  hasten  to  call 
on  a  saleswoman  at  Blumenshine's  ?  "  she  asked  care 
lessly. 

"  Nobody  wants  her  to,"  he  retorted,  amused. 

"  Or  on  a  parlor-maid — for  example?  " 

"  Let  her  see  you  first ;  you  can't  shock  her  after 
that.  .  .  .  Are  you?"  he  inquired  gently — so  gen 
tly,  so  pleasantly,  that  she  gave  him  a  swift  look  that 
set  his  heart  galloping. 

"  Do  you  really  desire  to  know  me  ?  "  she  asked. 
But  before  he  could  answer  she  sprang  up,  saying: 
"  Good  gracious  !  This  is  Twenty-eighth  Street !  It 
.seems  impossible !  " 

He  could  not  believe  it,  either,  but  he  fled  after 
her,  suit-case  and  golf-bag  swinging ;  the  gates 
slammed,  they  descended  the  stairs  and  emerged  on 
Twenty-eighth  Street.  "  I  live  on  Twenty-ninth 
Street,"  she  said;  "  shall  we  say  good-bye  here?  " 

"  I  should  think  not !  "  he  replied  with  a  scornful 
decision  that  amazed  her,  but,  curiously  enough,  did 


The  Master  Knot  of  Human  Fate 

not  offend  her.  They  walked  up  Twenty-eighth 
Street  to  Fifth  Avenue,  crossed,  turned  north  under 
the  white  flare  of  electricity,  then  entered  Twenty- 
ninth  Street  slowly,  side  by  side,  saying  nothing. 


CHAPTER    XIX 

THE    TIME    AND    THE    PLACE 

SHE  halted  at  the  portal  of  an  old-fashioned 
house  which  had  been  turned  into  an  apart 
ment  hotel — a  great  brownstone  mansion  set 
back  from  the  street.  A  severely  respectable  porter 
in  livery  appeared  and  bowed  to  her,  but  when  his 
apoplectic  eyes  encountered  Seabury's  his  shaven 
jaw  dropped  and  a  curious  spasm  appeared  to  affect 
his  knees. 

She  did  not  notice  it ;  she  turned  to  Seabury  and, 
looking  him  straight  in  the  face,  held  out  her  hand. 

"  Good-night,"  she  said.  "  Be  chivalrous  enough 
to  find  out  who  I  am — without  sacrificing  me.  .  .  . 
You — you  have  not  displeased  me." 

He  took  her  hand,  held  it  a  moment,  then  re 
leased  it. 


The  Time  and  the  Place 


"  I  live  here,"  he  said  calmly. 

A  trifle  disconcerted,  she  searched  his  face. 
"  That  is  curious,"  she  said  uneasily. 

"  Oh,  not  very.  I  have  bachelor  apartments  here ; 
I've  been  away  from  town  for  three  months.  Here  is 
my  pass-key,"  he  added,  laughing,  and  to  the 
strangely  paralyzed  porter  he  tossed  his  luggage 
with  a  nod  and  a  pleasant :  "  You  didn't  expect  me 
for  another  month,  William,  did  you  ?  " 

"  That  explains  it,"  she  said  smiling,  a  tint  of  ex 
citement  in  her  pretty  cheeks.  "  I've  been  here  only 
for  a  day  or  two." 

They  were  entering  now,  side  by  side ;  he  followed 
her  into  the  elevator.  The  little  red-haired  boy,  all 
over  freckles  and  gilt  buttons,  who  presided  within 
the  cage,  gaped  in  a  sort  of  stupor  when  he  saw 
Seabury. 

"  Well,  Tommy,"  inquired  that  young  gentleman, 
"what's  the  matter?" 

"  What  floor?  "  stammered  Tommy,  gazing  wildly 
from  one  to  the  other. 

"  The  usual  one,  in  my  case,"  said  Seabury,  sur 
prised. 

"  The  usual  one,  in  my  case,"  said  the  girl,  looking 
curiously  at  the  agitated  lad.  The  cage  shot  up 
to  the  third  floor ;  they  both  rose,  and  he  handed  her 
out.  Before  either  could  turn  the  elevator  hurriedly 

235 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

dropped,  leaving  them  standing  there  together. 
Then,  to  the  consternation  of  Seabury,  the  girl  quiet 
ly  rang  at  one  of  the  only  two  apartments  on  the 
floor,  and  the  next  instant  a  rather  smart-looking 
English  maid  opened  the  door. 

Seabury  stared;  he  turned  and  examined  the  cor 
ridor  ;  he  saw  the  number  on  the  door  of  the  elevator 
shaft ;  he  sawr  the  number  over  the  door. 

"  There  seems  to  be,"  he  began  slowly,  "  something 
alarming  the  matter  with  me  to-night.  I  suppose — 
I  suppose  it's  approaching  dementia,  but  do  you 
know  that  I  have  a  delusion  that  this  apartment  is 
mine?" 

"  Yours !  "  faltered  the  girl,  turning  pale. 

"  Well — it  was  once — before  I  left  town.  Either 
that  or  incipient  lunacy  explains  my  hallucination." 

The  maid  stood  at  the  door  gazing  at  him  in  un 
disguised  astonishment.  Her  pretty  mistress  looked 
at  her,  looked  at  Seabury,  turned  and  cast  an  agi 
tated  glance  along  the  corridor — just  in  time  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  curly  black  whiskers  and  the 
white  and  ghastly  face  of  the  proprietor  peering  at 
them  around  the  corner.  Whiskers  and  pallor  in 
stantly  vanished.  She  looked  at  Seabury. 

"  Please  come  in  a  moment,  Mr.  Seabury,"  she  said 
calmly.  He  followed  her  into  the  familiar  room 
decorated  writh  his  own  furniture,  and  lined  with  his 


The  Time  and  the  Place 


own  books,  hung  with  his  own  pictures.  At  a  ges 
ture  from  her  he  seated  himself  in  his  own  armchair ; 
she  sat  limply  in  a  chair  facing  him. 

"  Are  these  your  rooms  ?  "  she  asked  unsteadily. 

"  I  thought  so,  once.  Probably  there's  something 
the  matter  with  me." 

"  You  did  not  desire  to  rent  them  furnished  dur 
ing  your  absence  ?  " 

"  Not  that  I  know  of." 

"  And  you  have  returned  a  month  before  they  ex 
pected  you,  and  I — oh,  this  is  infamous !  "  she  cried, 
clenching  her  white  hands.  "  How  dared  that 
wretched  man  rent  this  place  to  me?  How  dared 
he!" 

A  long  and  stunning  silence  fell  upon  them — par 
ticipated  in  by  the  British  maid. 

Then  Seabury  began  to  laugh.  He  looked  at  the 
maid,  he  looked  at  her  angry  and  very  lovely  young 
mistress,  looked  at  the  tables  littered  with  type 
writers  and  stationery,  he  caught  sight  of  his  own 
dining-room  with  the  little  table  laid  for  two.  His 
gayety  disconcerted  her — he  rose,  paced  the  room 
and  returned. 

"  It  seems  my  landlord  has  tried  to  turn  a  thrifty 
penny  by  leasing  you  my  rooms !  "  he  said,  soberly. 
"Is  that  it?" 

She  was  close  to  tears,  controlling  her  voice  and 
237 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

keeping  her  self-possession  with  a  visible  effort.  "  I 
— I  am  treasurer  and  secretary  for  the  new  wing  to 
— to  St.  Berold's  Hospital,"  she  managed  to  say. 
"  We — the  women  interested,  needed  an  office — we 
employ  several  typewriters,  and — oh,  goodness! 
What  on  earth  will  your  sister  think !  " 

"  My  sister?     Why,  she's  at  Seal  Harbor " 

"  Your  sister  was  there  visiting  my  mother.  I 
came  on  to  town  to  see  our  architects;  I  wired  her 
to  come.  She — she  was  to  dine  with  me  here  to 
night  !  Sherry  was  notified !  " 

"My  sister?" 

"  Certainly.  What  on  earth  did  she  think  when 
she  found  me  installed  in  your  rooms?  And  that's 
bad  enough,  but  I  invited  her  to  dine  and  go  over  the 
hospital  matters — she's  one  of  the  vice  presidents — 
and  then — then  you  tied  our  feet  together  and  it's — 
what  time  is  it?  "  she  demanded  of  her  maid. 

"  It  is  midnight,  mem,"  replied  the  maid  in  sepul 
chral  tones. 

"  Is  that  man  from  Sherry's  still  there?  " 

"  He  is,  mem." 

Her  mistress  laid  her  charming  head  in  her  hands 
and  covered  her  agreeable  features  with  a  handker 
chief  of  delicate  and  rather  valuable  lace. 

The  silence  at  last  was  broken  by  Seabury  address 
ing  the  maid:  "  Is  that  dinner  spoiled?  " 

238 


The  Time  and  the  Place 


"  Quite,  sir." 

Her  mistress  looked  up  hastily :  "  Mr.  Seabury, 
you  are  not  going  to " 

"  Yes,  I  am ;  this  is  the  time  and  the  place !  "  And 
he  rose  with  decision  and  walked  straight  to.  the 
kitchen,  where  a  stony-faced  individual  sat  amid  the 
culinary  ruins,  a  statue  of  despair." 

"  What  I  want  you  to  do,"  said  Seabury,  "  is  to 
fix  up  a  salad  and  some  of  the  cold  duck,  and 
attend  to  the  champagne.  Meanwhile  I  think  I'll 
go  downstairs ;  I  have  an  engagement  to  kill  a 
man." 

However,  a  moment  later  he  thought  better  of 
it;  she  was  standing  by  the  mirror — his  own  mir 
ror — touching  her  eyes  with  her  lace  handkerchief 
and  patting  her  hair  with  the  prettiest,  whitest 
hands. 

"  Kill  him  ?  Never :  I'll  canonize  him  !  "  muttered 
Seabury,  enchanted.  Behind  him  he  heard  the  clink 
of  glass  and  china,  the  pleasant  sound  of  ice.  She 
heard  it,  too,  and  turned. 

"  Of  all  the  audacity !  "  she  said  in  a  low  voice, 
looking  at  him  under  her  level  brows.  But  there  was 
something  in  her  eyes  that  gave  him  courage — and  in 
his  that  gave  her  courage.  .  .  .  Besides,  they  were 
dreadfully  hungry. 


239 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  You  refuse  to  tell  me?  " 

"  I  do,"  she  said.  "  If  you  have  not  wit  enough 
to  find  out  my  name  without  betraying  me  to 
your  sister  you  do  not  deserve  to  know  my  name — 
or  me." 

It  was  nearly  two  o'clock,  they  had  risen,  and  the 
gay  little  flowery  table  remained  between  them ;  the 
salad  and  duck  were  all  gone.  But  the  froth  purred 
in  their  frail  glasses,  breaking  musically  in  the  can 
dle-lit  silence. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  your  name  before  I  go?  " 

"  I  will  not."  Her  bright  eyes  and  fair  young 
face  defied  him. 

"  Very  well ;  as  soon  as  I  learn  it  I  shall  be  more 
generous — for  I  have  something  to  tell  you ;  and  I'll 
do  it,  too  !  " 

"  Are  you  sure  you  will?  "  she  asked,  flushing  up. 

"  Yes,  I  am  sure." 

"  I  may  not  care  to  hear  what  you  have  to  say, 
Mr.  Seabury." 

They  regarded  one  another  intently,  curiously. 
Presently  her  slender  hand  fell  as  by  accident  on  the 
stem  of  her  wine-glass ;  he  lifted  his  glass :  very,  very 
slowly.  She  raised  hers,  looking  at  him  over  it. 

"  To — what  I  shall  tell  you — when  I  learn  your 
name !  "  he  said,  deliberately. 

Faint  fire  burned  in  her  cheeks ;  her  eyes  fell,  then 
240 


The  Time  and  the  Place 


were  slowly  raised  to  his;  in  silence,  still  looking  at 
one  another,  they  drank  the  toast. 

"  Dammit !  "  I  said,  impatiently,  "  is  that  all?  " 
"Yes,"   he   said,    "that   will  be  about   all.      I'm 
going  home  to  bed." 


17 


CHAPTER    XX 

DOWN    THE    SEINE 

MY  daughter  Alicia  and  my  daughter  Dulcima 
had  gone  to  drive  with  the  United  States 
Ambassador  and  his   daughter  that  morn 
ing,  leaving  me  at  the  Hotel  with  instructions  as  to 
my  behaviour  in  their  absence,  and  injunctions  not 
to  let  myself  be  run  over  by  any  cab,  omnibus,  auto 
mobile,  or  bicycle  whatever. 

Considerably  impressed  by  their  solicitude,  I  re 
tired  to  the  smoking-room,  believing  myself  safe 
there  from  any  form  of  vehicular  peril.  But  the 
young  man  from  Chicago  sauntered  in  and  took  a 
seat  close  beside  me,  with  benevolent  intentions  to 
ward  relieving  my  isolation. 

I  preferred  any  species  of  juggernaut  to  his  rough 


Down  the  Seine 


riding  over  the  English  language,  so  I  left  him  murk 
ily  enveloped  in  the  fumes  of  his  own  cigar  and 
sauntered  out  into  the  street. 

The  sky  was  cloudless ;  the  air  was  purest  balm. 
Through  fresh  clean  streets  I  wandered  under  the 
cool  shadows  of  flowering  chestnuts,  and  presently 
found  myself  on  the  quay  near  the  Pont  des  Arts, 
leaning  over  and  looking  at  the  river  slipping  past 
between  its  walls  of  granite. 

In  a  solemn  row  below  me  sat  some  two  dozen 
fishermen  dozing  over  their  sport.  Their  long  white 
bamboo  poles  sagged,  their  red  and  white  quill-floats 
bobbed  serenely  on  the  tide.  Truly  here  was  a  com 
pany  of  those  fabled  Lotus-eaters,  steeped  in  slumber  ; 
a  dreamy,  passionless  band  of  brothers  drowsing  in 
the  sunshine. 

Looking  east  along  the  grey  stone  quays  I  could 
see  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  others,  slumbering  over 
their  fishpoles ;  looking  west,  the  scenery  was  similar. 

"  The  fishing  must  be  good  here,"  I  observed  to  an 
aged  man,  leaning  on  the  quay-wall  beside  me. 

"  Comme  fa,"  he  said. 

I  leaned  there  lazily,  waiting  to  see  the  first  fish 
caught.  I  am  an  angler  myself,  and  understand  pa 
tience  ;  but  when  I  had  waited  an  hour  by  my  watch 
I  looked  suspiciously  at  the  aged  man  beside  me.  He 
was  asleep,  so  I  touched  him. 

243 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

He  roused  himself  without  resentment.  "  Have 
you,"  said  I,  sarcastically,  "  ever  seen  better  fishing 
than  this,  in  the  Seine?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said ;  "  I  once  saw  a  fish  caught." 

"  And  when  was  that  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  That"  said  the  aged  man,  "  was  in  1853." 

I  strolled  down  to  the  lower  quay,  smoking.  As 
I  passed  the  row  of  anglers  I  looked  at  them  closely. 
They  all  were  asleep. 

Just  above  was  anchored  one  of  those  floating 
lavoirs  in  which  the  washerwomen  of  Paris  congregate 
to  beat  your  linen  into  rags  with  flat  wooden  paddles, 
and  soap  the  rags  snow-white  at  the  cost  of  a  few 
pennies. 

The  soapsuds  from  the  washing  floated  off  among 
the  lines  of  the  slumbering  fishermen.  Perhaps  that 
was  one  reason  why  the  fish  were  absent  from  the 
scenery.  On  the  other  hand,  however,  I  was  given 
to  understand  that  a  large  sewer  emptied  into  the 
river  near  the  Pont  des  Arts,  and  that  the  fishing  was 
best  in  such  choice  spots.  Still  something  certainly 
was  wrong  somewhere,  for  either  the  sewer  and  the 
soapsuds  had  killed  the  fish,  or  they  had  all  migrated 
up  the  sewer  on  an  inland  and  subterranean  picnic  to 
meet  the  elite  among  the  rats  of  Paris,  and  spend 
the  balance  of  the  day. 

The  river  was  alive  with  little  white  saucy  steam- 


Down  the  Seine 


boats,  rushing  up  and  down  the  Seine  with  the  speed 
of  torpedo  craft.  There  was  a  boat-landing  within 
a  few  paces  of  where  I  stood,  so,  when  a  boat  came 
along  and  stopped  to  discharge  a  few  passengers,  I 
stepped  aboard,  bound  for  almost  anywhere,  and  not 
over-anxious  to  get  there  too  quickly.  Neither  did 
I  care  to  learn  my  own  destination,  and  when  the 
ticket  agent  in  naval  uniform  came  along  to  inquire 
where  I  might  be  going,  I  told  him  to  sell  me  a  pink 
ticket  because  it  looked  pretty.  As  all  Frenchmen 
believe  that  all  Americans  are  a  little  mad,  my  re 
quest,  far  from  surprising  the  ticket  agent,  simply 
confirmed  his  national  theory;  and  he  gave  me  my 
ticket  very  kindly,  with  an  air  of  protection  such  as 
one  involuntarily  assumes  toward  children  and  in 
valids. 

"  You  are  going  to  Saint  Cloud,"  he  said.  "  I'll 
tell  you  when  to  get  off  the  boat." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  I. 

"  You  ought  to  be  going  the  other  way,"  he 
added. 

"Why?"  I  asked. 

"  Because  Charenton  lies  the  other  way,"  he  replied, 
politely,  and  passed  on  to  sell  his  tickets. 

Now  I  had  forgotten  much  concerning  Paris  in  my 
twenty  years  of  absence. 

There  was  a  pretty  girl  sitting  on  the  bench  be- 
245 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

side  me,  with  elbows  resting  on  the  railing  behind.  I 
glanced  at  her.  She  was  smiling. 

"  Pardon,  madame,"  said  I,  knowing  enough  to 
flatter  her,  though  she  had  "  mademoiselle  "  written 
all  over  her  complexion  of  peaches  and  cream — "  par 
don,  madame,  but  may  I,  a  stranger,  venture  to  ad 
dress  you  for  a  word  of  information?  " 

"  You  may,  monsieur,"  she  said,  with  a  smile  which 
showed  an  edge  of  white  teeth  under  her  scarlet  lips. 

"  Then,  if  you  please,  where  is  Charenton  ?  " 

"  Up  the  river,"  she  replied,  smiling  still. 

"  And  what,"  said  I,  "  is  the  principal  feature  of 
the  town  of  Charenton  ?  " 

"  The  Lunatic  Asylum,  monsieur." 

I  thanked  her  and  looked  the  other  way. 

Our  boat  was  now  flying  past  the  Louvre.  Above 
in  the  streets  I  could  see  cabs  and  carriages  passing, 
and  the  heads  and  shoulders  of  people  walking  on 
the  endless  stone  terraces.  Below,  along  the  river 
bank,  our  boat  passed  between  an  almost  unbroken 
double  line  of  dozing  fishermen. 

Now  we  shot  out  from  the  ranks  of  lavoirs  and 
bathhouses,  and  darted  on  past  the  Champ  de  Mars ; 
past  the  ugly  sprawling  Eiffel  Tower,  past  the  twin 
towers  of  the  Trocadero,  and  out  under  the  huge 
stone  viaduct  of  the  Point  du  Jour. 

Here  the  banks  of  the  river  were  green  and  inviting. 
246 


Down  the  Seine 


Cafes,  pretty  suburban  dance-houses,  restaurants, 
and  tiny  hotels  lined  the  shores.  I  read  on  the  signs 
such  names  as  "The  Angler's  Retreat,"  "At  the 
Great  Gudgeon,"  "  The  Fisherman's  Paradise,"  and 
I  saw  sign-boards  advertising  fishing,  and  boats  to  let. 

"  I  should  think,"  said  I,  turning  to  my  pretty 
neighbor,  "  that  it  would  pay  to  remove  these  fisher 
man's  signs  to  Charenton." 

"Why?"  she  asked. 

"  Because,"  said  I,  "  nobody  except  a  Charenton- 
ian  would  ever  believe  that  any  fish  inhabit  this 
river." 

"Saint  Cloud!  Saint  Cloud!"  called  out  the 
ticket-agent  as  the  boat  swung  in  to  a  little  wooden 
floating  pier  on  the  left  bank  of  the  river. 

The  ticket-agent  carefully  assisted  me  over  the 
bridge  to  the  landing-dock,  and  I  whispered  to  him 
that  I  was  the  Duke  of  Flatbush  and  would  be  glad 
to  receive  him  any  day  in  Prospect  Park. 

Then,  made  merry  at  my  own  wit,  I  strolled  off  up 
the  steps  that  led  to  the  bank  above. 

There,  perched  high  above  the  river,  I  found  a  most 
delightful  little  rustic  restaurant  where  I  at  once  or 
dered  luncheon  served  for  me  on  the  terrace,  in  the 
open  air. 

The  bald  waiter  sped  softly  away  to  deliver  my 
order,  and  I  sipped  an  Amer-Picon,  and  bared  my; 

247 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

head  to  the  warm  breeze  which  swept  up  the  river 
from  distant  meadows  deep  in  clover. 

There  appeared  to  be  few  people  on  the  terrace. 
One  young  girl,  however,  whom  I  had  seen  on  the 
boat,  I  noticed  particularly  because  she  seemed  to 
be  noticing  me.  Then,  fearing  that  my  stare  might 
be  misunderstood,  I  turned  away  and  soon  forgot  her 
when  the  bald  waiter  returned  with  an  omelet,  bread 
and  butter,  radishes  and  a  flask  of  white  wine. 

Such  an  omelet !  such  wine !  such  butter !  and 
the  breeze  from  the  west  blowing  sweet  as  perfume 
from  a  nectarine,  and  the  green  trees  waving  and 
whispering,  and  the  blessed  yellow  sunshine  over 
all- 

"  Pardon,  monsieur." 

I  turned.  It  was  my  pretty  little  Parisienne  of  the 
steamboat,  seated  at  the  next  small  table,  demurely 
chipping  an  egg. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  I,  hastily,  for  the  leg 
of  my  chair  was  pinning  her  gown  to  the  ground. 

"  It  is  nothing,"  she  said  brightly,  with  a  mischiev 
ous  glance  under  her  eyes. 

"  My  child,"  said  I,  "  it  was  very  stupid  of  me, 
and  I  am  certainly  old  enough  to  know  better." 

"  Doubtless,  monsieur ;  and  yet  you  do  not  appear 
to  be  very,  very  old." 

"  I  am  very  aged,"  said  I — "  almost  forty-five." 
248 


Down  the  Seine 


And  I  smiled  a  retrospective  smile,  watching  the 
bubbles  breaking  in  my  wine-glass. 

Memory  began  to  work,  deftly,  among  the  debris 
of  past  years.  I  saw  myself  a  student  of  eighteen, 
gavely  promenading  Paris  with  my  tutor,  living  a 
monotonous  colourless  life  in  a  city  of  which  I 
knew  nothing  and  saw  nothing  save  through  the 
windows  of  my  English  pension  or  in  the  feature 
less  streets  of  the  American  quarter,  under  escort  of 
my  tutor  and  my  asthmatic  aunt,  Miss  Janet  Van 
Twiller. 

That  year  spent  in  Paris,  to  "  acquire  the  lan 
guage  "  in  a  house  where  nothing  but  English  was 
spoken,  had  still  a  vague,  tender  charm  for  me,  be 
cause  in  that  year  I  was  young.  I  grew  older  when 
I  shook  the  tutor,  side-stepped  my  aunt,  and  moved 
across  the  river. 

Once,  only  once,  had  the  placid  serenity  of  that 
year  been  broken.  It  was  one  day — a  day  like  this 
in  spring — when,  for  some  reason,  even  now  utterly 
unknown  to  me,  I  deliberately  walked  out  of  the 
house  alone  in  defiance  of  my  tutor  and  my  aunt,  and 
wandered  all  day  long  through  unknown  squares  and 
parks  and  streets  intoxicated  with  my  own  freedom. 
And  I  remember,  that  day — which  was  the  twin  of 
this — sitting  on  the  terrace  of  a  tiny  cafe  in  the 
Latin  Quarter,  I  drifted  into  idle  conversation  with  a 

249 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

demure  little  maid  who  was  sipping  a  red  syrup  out 
of  a  tall  thin  glass. 

Twenty-seven  years  ago !  And  here  I  was  again, 
in  the  scented  spring  sunshine,  with  the  same  west 
wind  whispering  of  youth  and  freedom,  and  my  heart 
not  a  day  older. 

"  My  child,"  said  I  to  the  little  maid,  "  twenty- 
seven  years  ago  you  drank  pink  strawberry  syrup  in 
a  tall  iced  glass." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  monsieur,"  she  faltered. 

"  You  cannot,  mademoiselle.  I  am  drinking  to  the 
memory  of  my  dead  youth." 

And  I  touched  my  lips  to  the  glass. 

"  I  wonder,"  she  said,  under  her  breath,  "  what  I 
am  to  do  with  the  rest  of  the  day  ?  " 

"  I  could  have  told  you,"  said  I — "  twenty-seven 
years  ago." 

"  Perhaps  you  could  tell  me  better  now?  "  she  said, 
innocently. 

I  looked  out  into  the  east  where  the  gold  dome  of 
the  Tomb  rose  glimmering  through  a  pale-blue  haze. 
"  Under  that  dome  lies  an  Emperor  in  his  crypt  of 
porphyry,"  said  I.  "  Deeper  than  his  dust,  bedded 
in  its  stiff  shroud  of  gold,  lies  my  dead  youth,  sleep 
ing  forever  in  the  heart  of  this  fair  young  world  of 
spring." 

I  touched  my  glass  idly,  then  lifted  it. 
250 


Down  the  Seine 


"  Yet,"  said  I,  "  the  pale  sunshine  of  winter  lies  not 
unkindly  on  snow  and  ice,  sometimes.  I  drink  to 
your  youth  and  beauty,  my  child." 

"Is  that  all?"  she  asked,  wonder-eyed. 

I  thought  a  moment :  "  No,  not  all.  Williams  isn't 
the  only  autocratic  interpreter  of  Fate,  Chance,  and 
Destiny." 

"  Williams  !  "  she  repeated,  perplexed. 

"  You  don't  know  him.  He  writes  stories  for  a 
living.  But  he'll  never  write  the  story  I  might  very 
easily  tell  you  in  the  sunshine  here." 

After  a  pause  she  said :  "  Are  you  going  to  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  will,"  I  said.  And  my  eyes  fixed  smil 
ing  upon  the  sunny  horizon,  I  began: 

Now,  part  of  this  story  is  to  be  vague  as  a  mir 
rored  face  at  dusk;  and  part  is  to  be  as  precise  as 
the  reflection  of  green  trees  in  the  glass  of  the  stream ; 
and  all  is  to  be  as  capricious  as  the  flight  of  that 
wonderful  butterfly  of  the  South  which  is  called 
Ajax  by  the  reverent,  and  The  White  Devil  by  the 
profane.  Incidentally,  it  is  the  story  of  Jones  and 
the  Dryad. 

The  profession  of  Jones  was  derided  by  the  world 
at  large.  He  collected  butterflies;  and  it  may  be 
imagined  what  the  American  public  thought  of  him 
when  they  did  not  think  he  was  demented.  But  a 

251 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

large,  over-nourished  and  blase  millionaire,  wearied 
of  collecting  pigeon-blood  rubies,  first  editions  and 
Rembrandts,  through  sheer  ennui  one  day  commis 
sioned  Jones  to  gather  for  him  the  most  magnificent 
and  complete  collection  of  American  butterflies  that 
could  possibly  be  secured — not  only  single  perfect 
specimens  of  the  two  sexes  in  each  species,  but  series 
on  series  of  every  kind,  showing  local  varieties,  sea 
sonal  variations  in  size  and  colour,  strange  examples 
of  albinism  and  polymorphic  phenomena — in  fact, 
this  large,  benevolent  and  intellectual  capitalist 
wanted  something  which  nobody  else  had,  so  he  se 
lected  Jones  and  damned  the  expense.  Nobody  else 
had  Jones:  that  pleased  him;  Jones  was  to  secure 
specimens  that  nobody  else  had:  and  that  would  be 
doubly  gratifying.  Therefore  he  provided  Jones 
with  a  five-year  contract,  an  agreeable  salary,  turned 
him  loose  on  a  suspicious  nation,  and  went  back  to 
hunt  up  safe  investments  for  an  income  the  size  of 
which  had  begun  to  annoy  him. 

"  This  part  of  the  story  is  clear  enough,  is  it  not, 
my  child?" 

"  Are  you  Jones  ?  " 

"  Don't  ask  questions,"  I  said,  seriously. 

"  The  few  delirious  capers  cut  by  Jones  subse 
quent  to  the  signing  of  the  contract  consisted  of  a 

252 


Down  the  Seine 


debauch  at  the  Astor  Library,  a  mad  evening  with 
seven  aged  gentlemen  at  the  Entomological  Society, 
and  the  purchase  of  a  ticket  to  Florida.  This  last 
spasm  was  his  undoing;  he  went  for  butterflies,  and 
the  first  thing  he  did  was  to  trip  over  the  maliciously 
extended  foot  of  Fate  and  fall  plump  into  the  open 
arms  of  Destiny.  And  in  a  week  he  was  playing 
golf.  This  part  is  sufficiently  vague,  I  hope. 
Is  it?" 

She  said  it  was ;  so  I  continued : 

The  Dryad,  with  her  sleeves  rolled  up  above 
her  pretty  elbows,  was  preparing  to  assault  a 
golf  ball;  Jones  regarded  the  proceedings  with  that 
inscrutable  expression  which,  no  doubt,  is  bestowed 
upon  certain  creatures  as  a  weapon  for  self-protec 
tion. 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  while  I'm  driving,"  said  the 
Dryad. 

"  No,"  said  Jones. 

"  Don't   even   say  '  no  ' !  "   insisted  the   Dryad. 

A  sharp  thwack  shattered  the  silence ;  the  golf  ball 
sailed  away  toward  the  fifth  green,  landing  in  a 
gully.  "  Oh,  bother !  "  exclaimed  the  Dryad,  petu 
lantly,  as  the  small  black  caddie  pattered  forward, 
irons  rattling  in  his  quiver.  "  Now,  Mr.  Jones,  it 
is  up  to  you  " — doubtless  a  classically  mythological 

253 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

form  of  admonition  common  to  Dryads  but  now  ob 
solete. 

The  Dryad,  receiving  no  reply,  looked  around  and 
beheld  Jones,  net  poised,  advancing  on  tiptoe  across 
the  green. 

66  What  is  it —  a  snake  ?  "  inquired  the  Dryad  in 
an  unsteady  voice. 

"It   is   The   White    Devil!"   whispered    Jones. 

The  Dryad's  skirts  were  short  enough  as  it  was, 
but  she  hastily  picked  them  up.  She  had  a  right  to. 
"  Does  it  bite  ?  "  she  whispered,  looking  carefully 
around  in  the  grass.  But  all  she  could  see  was  a 
strangely  beautiful  butterfly  settled  on  a  blue  wild 
blossom  which  swayed  gently  in  the  wind  on  the  edge 
of  the  jungle.  So  she  dropped  her  skirts.  She  had 
a  right  to. 

Now,  within  a  few  moments  of  the  hour  when 
Jones  had  first  laid  eyes  on  her,  and  she  on  Jones, 
he  had  confided  to  her  his  family  history,  his  ambi 
tions,  his  ethical  convictions,  and  his  theories  con 
cerning  the  four  known  forms  of  the  exquisite  Ajax 
butterfly  of  Florida.  She  had  been  young  enough 
to  listen  without  yawning — which  places  her  age 
somewhere  close  to  eighteen.  Besides,  she  had  re 
membered  almost  everything  that  Jones  had  said, 
which  confirms  a  diagnosis  of  her  disease.  There 
could  be  no  doubt  about  it;  the  Dryad  was  afflicted 

254 


Down  the  Seine 


with  extreme  Youth,  for  she  now  recognized  the  but 
terfly  from  the  eulogy  of  Jones,  and  her  innocent 
heart  began  a  steady  tattoo  upon  her  ribs  as  Jones, 
on  tiptoe,  crept  nearer  and  nearer,  net  outstretched. 

The  moment  was  solemn ;  breathless,  hatless,  bare- 
armed,  the  Dryad  advanced,  skirts  spread  as  though 
to  shoo  chickens. 

"  Don't,"  whispered  Jones. 

But  the  damage  had  been  accomplished;  Ajax 
jerked  his  pearl  and  ashen  banded  wings,  shot  with 
the  fiery  crimson  bar,  flashed  into  the  air,  and  was 
gone  like  the  last  glimmer  of  a  fading  sun-spot. 

"  Oh,  dear !  Oh,  dear !  "  cried  the  Dryad,  clasp 
ing  her  highly  ornamental  hands ;  "  what  on  earth 
will  you  think  of  my  stupidity?  " 

"  Nothing,"  said  Jones,  resolutely,  swallowing 
hard  and  gazing  at  the  tangled  jungle. 

"  It  was  too  stupid,"  insisted  the  Dryad ;  and,  as 
the  silence  of  Jones  assented,  she  added,  "  but  it  is 
not  very  nice  of  you  to  say  so." 

"  Why,  I  didn't,"  cried  Jones. 

"  You  did,"  said  the  Dryad,  tears  of  vexation  in 
her  blue  eyes.  "  And  to  pay  for  your  discourtesy 
you  shall  make  me  a  silk  net  and  I  shall  give  up  golf 
and  spend  my  entire  time  in  hunting  for  White  Dev 
ils,  to  make  amends." 

The  suggested  penance  appeared  to  attract  Jones. 
255 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  Give  up  golf — which  I  am  perfectly  mad  about," 
repeated  the  Dryad,  "  just  because  you  were  horrid 
when  I  tried  to  help  you." 

"  That  will  be  delightful,"  said  Jones,  naively. 
"  We  will  hunt  Ajax  together — all  day,  every 
day " 

"  Oh,  I  shall  catch — something — the  first  time  I 
try,"  observed  the  Dryad,  airily.  She  teed  up  a 
practice  ball,  hit  it  a  vicious  whack,  followed  its  flight 
with  narrowing  blue  eyes,  and,  turning  placidly  upon 
Jones,  smiled  a  dangerous  smile. 

"  If  I  don't  catch  an  Ajax  before  you  do  I'll  for 
feit  anything  you  please,"  she  said. 

"  I'll  take  it,"  said  Jones. 

"  But,"  cried  the  Dryad,  "  what  do  you  offer 
against  it  ?  " 

"  Whatever  I  ask  from  you,"  he  said,  deliberately. 

"  You  are  somewhat  vague,  Mr.  Jones." 

"  I  won't  be  when  I  win." 

"  Tell  me  what  you  want — if  you  win !  " 

"  What  ?  With  this  caddie  hanging  around  and 
listening?"  The  Dryad,  wide-eyed  and  flushed,  re 
garded  him  in  amazement. 

Jones  picked  up  a  pinch  of  wet  sand  from  the  box, 
moulded  it  with  great  care  into  a  tiny  truncated  cone, 
set  it  on  the  tee,  set  his  ball  on  top  of  it,  whipped  the 
air  persuasively  with  his  driver  once  or  twice,  and, 

256 


Down  the  Seine 


settling  himself  into  the  attitude  popularly  attributed 
to  the  Colossus  of  Rhodes,  hit  the  ball  for  the  longest, 
cleanest  drive  he  had  ever  perpetrated. 

"  Dryad,"  he  said,  politely,  "  it  is  now  up  to  you." 

Of  all  the  exquisite  creatures  that  float  through  the 
winter  sunshine  of  the  semi-tropics  this  is  the  most 
exquisite  and  spirituelle.  Long,  slender,  swallow- 
tailed  wings,  tinted  with  pearl  and  primrose,  crossed 
with  ashy  stripes  and  double-barred  with  glowing 
crimson — this  is  the  shy,  forest-haunting  creature 
that  the  Dryad  sought  to  snare,  and  sought  in  vain. 

Sometimes,  standing  on  the  long,  white  shell 
roads,  where  myriads  of  glittering  dragon-flies  sailed, 
far  away  a  pale  flash  would  catch  the  sun  for  an  in 
stant  ;  and  "  Ready !  Look  out !  "  would  cry  the 
Dryad.  Vanity!  Swifter  than  a  swallow  the  Ajax 
passed,  a  pearly  blurr  against  the  glare  of  the  white 
road;  swish!  swish!  the  silken  nets  swung  in  vain. 

"  Oh,  bother,"  sighed  the  Dryad. 

Again,  in  the  dim  corridors  of  the  forest,  where 
tall  palms  clustered  and  green  live  oaks  spread  trans 
parent  shadows  across  palmetto  thickets,  far  in  some 
sunlit  glade  a  tiny  wing-flash  would  bring  the  Dry 
ad's  forest  cry:  "Quick!  Oh,  quick!"  But  the 
woodland  ghost  was  gone. 

"  Oh,  bother,  bother !  "  sighed  the  Dryad.  "  There 
18  257 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

are  flowers — the  sparkleberry  is  in  blossom — there  is 
bloom  on  the  China  tree,  but  this  phantom  never 
stops  !  Can  nothing  stop  it  ?  " 

Day  after  day,  guarding  the  long,  white  road, 
the  Dryad  saw  the  phantom  pass — always  flying 
north ;  day  after  day  in  the  dim  forest,  the  hurrying, 
pale-winged,  tireless  creatures  fled  away,  darting  al 
ways  along  some  fixed  yet  invisible  aerial  path. 
Nothing  lured  them,  neither  the  perfumed  clusters  of 
the  China-berry,  nor  the  white  forest  flowers  ;  nothing 
checked  them,  neither  the  woven  curtain  of  creepers 
across  the  forest  barrier,  nor  the  jungle  walled  with 
palms. 

To  the  net  of  the  Dryad  and  of  Jones  had  fallen 
half  a  thousand  jewelled  victims  ;  the  exquisite  bronzed 
Berenice,  the  velvet  and  yellow  Palamedes,  the  great 
orange-winged  creatures  brilliant  as  lighted  lanterns. 
But  in  the  gemmed  symmetry  of  the  casket  the  opal 
escent  heart  was  missing;  and  the  Dryad,  uncom- 
forted,  haunted  the  woodlands,  roaming  in  defiance  of 
the  turquoise-tinted  lizards  and  the  possible  serpent 
whose  mouth  is  lined  with  snow-white  membranes — 
prowling  in  contempt  of  that  coiled  horror  that  lies 
waiting,  S  shaped,  a  mass  of  matted  grey  and  velvet 
diamond  pattern  from  which  two  lidless  eyes  glitter 
unwinking. 

"  How  on  earth  did  anybody  ever  catch  an  Ajax?  " 
258 


Down  the  Seine 


inquired  the  Dryad  at  the  close  of  one  fruitless,  boot 
less  day's  pursuit. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Jones,  "  that  every  year  or  so 
the  Ajax  alights."  That  was  irony. 

"On  what?"  insisted  the  Dryad. 

"  Oh,  on — something,"  said  Jones,  vaguely. 
"  Butterflies  are,  no  doubt,  like  the  human  species ; 
flowers  tempt  some  butterflies,  mud-puddles  attract 
others.  One  or  the  other  will  attract  our  Ajax  some 
day." 

That  night  Jones,  with  book  open  upon  his  knees, 
sat  in  the  lamplight  of  the  great  veranda  and  read 
tales  of  Ajax  to  the  Dryad;  how  that,  in  the  tropics, 
Ajax  assumes  four  forms,  masquerading  as  Floriden- 
sis  in  winter  and  as  Telamonides  in  summer,  and  how 
he  wears  the  exquisite  livery  of  Marcellus,  too,  and 
even  assumes,  according  to  a  gentleman  named  Walsh, 
a  fourth  form.  Beautiful  pictures  of  Ajax  illumined 
the  page  where  were  also  engraved  the  signs  of  Mars 
and  of  Venus.  The  Dryad  looked  at  these;  Jones 
looked  at  her;  the  rest  of  the  hotel  looked  at  them. 
Jones  read  on. 

Sleepy-eyed  the  Dryad  listened ;  outside  in  the  bur 
nished  moonlight  the  whippoorwill's  spirit  call  chal 
lenged  the  star-set  silence ;  and  far  away  in  the  blue 
night  she  heard  the  deep  breathing  of  the  sea.  Pres 
ently  the  Dryad  slept  in  her  rocking-chair,  curved 

259 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

wrist  propping  her  head ;  Jones  was  chagrined.  He 
need  not  have  been,  for  the  Dryad  was  dreaming  of 
him. 

There  came  a  day  late  in  April  when,  knee  deep 
in  palmetto  scrub,  the  Dryad  and  Jones  stood  leaning 
upon  their  nets  and  scanning  the  wilderness  for  the 
swift-winged  forest  phantom  they  had  sought  so  long. 
Ajax  was  on  the  wing;  glimpse  after  glimpse  they 
had  of  him,  a  pale  shadow  in  the  sun,  a  misty  spot 
in  the  shadow,  then  nothing  but  miles  of  palmetto 
scrub  and  the  pink  stems  of  tall  pines. 

Suddenly  an  Ajax  darted  into  the  sunny  glade 
where  they  stood,  and  a  ragged,  faded  brother  Ajax 
fluttered  up  from  the  ground  and,  Aj  ax-like,  defied 
the  living  lightning. 

Wing  beating  wing  they  closed  in  battle,  whirling 
round  and  round  one  another  above  the  palmetto 
thicket.  The  ragged  and  battered  butterfly  won,  the 
other  darted  away  with  the  speed  of  a  panic-stricken 
jacksnipe,  and  his  shabby  opponent  quietly  settled 
down  on  a  sun-warmed  twig. 

Then  it  was  that  inspiration  seized  the  Dryad: 
"  Mr.  Jones,  you  trick  wild  ducks  into  gunshot  range 
by  setting  painted  wooden  ducks  afloat  close  to  the 
shore  where  you  lie  hidden.  Catch  that  ragged  Ajax, 
place  him  upon  a  leaf,  and  who  knows  ?  " 

260 


Down  the  Seine 


Decoy  a  butterfly?  Decoy  the  forest  phantom 
drunk  with  the  exhilaration  of  his  own  mad  flight! 
It  was  the  invention  of  a  new  sport. 

Scarcely  appearing  to  move  at  all,  so  cautious 
was  his  progress,  Jones  slowly  drew  near  the  basking 
and  battle-tattered  creature  that  had  once  been  Ajax. 
There  was  a  swift  drop  of  the  silken  net,  a  flutter,  and 
all  was  over.  In  the  palm  of  Jones's  hand,  dead,  lay 
the  faded  and  torn  insect  with  scarce  a  vestige  of 
former  beauty  on  the  motionless  wings. 

Doubting,  yet  stirred  to  hope,  he  placed  the  dead 
butterfly  on  a  palmetto  frond,  wings  expanded  to 
catch  the  sun ;  and  then,  standing  within  easy  net- 
stroke,  the  excited  Dryad  and  Jones  strained  their 
eyes  to  catch  the  first  far  glimpse  of  Ajax  in  the  wil 
derness. 

What  was  that  distant  flash  of  light?  A  dragon 
fly  sailing  ?  There  it  is  again !  And  there  again ! 
Nearer,  nearer,  following  the  same  invisible  aerial 
path. 

"  Quick !  "  whispered  the  Dryad.  A  magnificent 
Ajax  flashed  across  the  glade,  turned  an  acute  angle 
in  mid-air,  and  in  an  instant  hung  hovering  over  the 
lifeless  insect  on  the  palm  leaf. 

Swish-h!  A  wild  fluttering  in  the  net,  a  soft  cry 
of  excitement  from  the  Dryad,  and  there,  dead,  in 
the  palm  of  the  hand  of  Jones,  lay  the  first  per- 

261 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

feet  specimen,  exquisite,  flawless,  beautiful  beyond 
words. 

Before  the  Dryad  could  place  the  lovely  creature 
in  safety  another  Ajax  darted  into  the  glade,  sheered 
straight  for  the  decoy,  and  the  next  instant  was  flut 
tering,  a  netted  captive. 

Then  the  excitement  grew;  again  and  again  Ajax 
appeared  in  the  vicinity;  and  the  tension  only  in 
creased  as  the  forest  phantom,  unseeing  or  unheeding 
the  decoy,  darted  on  in  a  mad  ecstasy  of  flight. 

No  hunter,  crouched  in  the  reeds,  could  find  keener 
excitement  watching  near  his  decoys  than  the  Dryad 
found  that  April  day,  motionless,  almost  breathless, 
scanning  the  forest  depths  for  the  misty-winged 
phantom  of  the  tropic  wilderness.  One  in  six  turned 
to  the  decoy ;  there  were  long,  silent  intervals  of  wait 
ing  and  of  strained  expectancy ;  there  were  false 
alarms  as  a  distant  drifting  dragon-fly  glimmered  in 
the  sun;  but  one  by  one  the  swift-winged  victims 
dashed  at  the  decoy  and  were  taken  in  their  strength 
and  pride  and  all  their  unsullied  beauty.  And  when 
the  sport  of  that  April  morning  was  over,  and  when 
Denis,  the  Ethiopian,  turned  the  horses'  heads  home 
ward,  Ajax  Floridensis,  Ajax  Marcellus  and  Ajax 
Telamonides  were  no  longer  mysteries  to  the  Dryad 
and  to  Jones. 

But  there  was  a  deeper  mystery  to  solve  before 


Down  the  Seine 


returning  to  the  vast  caravansary  across  the  river; 
and  while  they  hesitated  to  attack  it,  I,  mademoiselle, 
having  met  and  defeated  Ajax  in  fair  and  open  trial 
of  cunning  and  of  wit,  think  fit  to  throw  a  ray  of 
modern  light  upon  this  archaic  tale. 

It  is  true  that  Ajax,  of  the  family  of  Papilio,  rivals 
the  wind  in  flight,  and  seldom,  in  spring  and  summer, 
deigns  to  alight.  Yet  I  have  seen  Ajax  Telamonides 
alight  in  the  middle  of  the  roadway,  and,  netting 
him,  have  found  him  fresh  from  the  chrysalis,  and 
therefore  weak  and  inexperienced.  Ajax  Floridensis 
I  have  taken  with  a  net  as  he  feasted  on  the  bunches 
of  white  sparkleberry  on  the  edge  of  the  jungle. 

Rarely  have  I  seen  Ajax  seduced  by  the  wild  phlox 
blossoms,  but  I  have  sometimes  caught  him  sipping 
there. 

As  for  the  decoy,  I  have  used  it  and  taken  with  it 
scores  and  scores  of  Ajax  butterflies  which  otherwise 
I  could  not  have  hoped  to  capture.  This  is  not  all ; 
the  great  Tiger  Swallowtail  of  the  orange  groves  can 
be  decoyed  by  a  dead  comrade  of  either  sex ;  so,  too, 
can  the  royal,  velvet-robed  Palamedes  butterfly ;  and 
when  the  imperial  Turnus  sails  high  among  the  mag 
nolias'  topmost  branches,  a  pebble  cast  into  the  air 
near  him  will  sometimes  bring  him  fluttering  down, 
following  the  stone  as  it  falls  to  the  ground.  These 
three  butterflies,  however,  are  generally  easily  de- 

263 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

coyed,  and  all  love  flowers.  Yet,  in  experimenting 
with  decoys,  I  have  never  seen  an  Ajax  decoy  to  any 
dead  butterfly  except  an  Ajax;  and  the  dead  butter 
fly  may  be  of  either  sex,  and  as  battered  as  you 
please. 

It  is  supposed  by  some  that  butterflies  can  distin 
guish  colour  and  form  at  no  greater  distance  than  five 
feet ;  and  experiments  in  decoying  appear  to  bear  out 
this  theory.  Butterflies  decoy  to  their  own  species, 
even  to  faded  and  imperfect  ones. 

Of  half  a  dozen  specimens  set  out  on  leaves  and 
twigs,  among  which  were  Papilio  Palamedes,  Cres- 
phontes,  and  Turnus,  Ajax  decoyed  only  to  an  im 
perfect  and  faded  Ajax,  and  finally,  when  among 
that  brilliant  array  of  specimens  a  single  upper 
wing  of  a  dead  Ajax  was  placed  on  a  broad  leaf, 
Ajax  came  to  it,  ignoring  the  other  perfect  speci 
mens. 

Yet  Ajax  will  fight  in  single  combat  wTith  any  live 
butterfly,  and  so  will  Palamedes,  Turnus,  and  Cres- 
phontes. 

If  a  female  Luna  moth  is  placed  in  a  cage  of  mos 
quito  netting  and  hung  out  of  the  window  at  night 
she  is  almost  certain  to  attract  all  the  male  Luna 
moths  in  the  neighbourhood  before  morning.  In  this 
case,  as  it  is  in  the  case,  of  the  other  moths  of  the 
same  group,  it  is  the  odor  that  attracts. 

264 


Down  the  Seine 


Bint  in  the  case  of  a  dead  Ajax  butterfly  it  ap 
pears  to  be  colour  even  more  than  form;  and  it  can 
scarcely  be  odor,  because  the  Ajax  butterflies  of  both 
sexes  decoy  to  a  dead  and  dried  butterfly  of  either 
sex.  With  this  abstruse  observation,  mademoiselle, 
I,  personally,  retire  into  the  jungle  to  peep  out  at 
a  passing  vehicle  driven  by  an  Ethiopian  known  as 
Denis,  and  containing  two  young  people  of  sexes 
diametrically  opposed.  And  I  am  pleasantly  con 
scious  that  I  can  no  longer  conceal  their  identity 
from  you,  mademoiselle. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  I  know  who  they  are.  Please 
continue  about  them." 

So  I  smiled  and  continued: 

"  And  after  all  these  weeks,  during  which  I  have 
so  faithfully  accompanied  you,  are  you  actually 
going  to  insist  that  I  lost  my  bet?"  asked  the 
Dryad  in  a  low  voice. 

"But  you  didn't,  did  you?"  said  the  pitiless 
Jones. 

"  I  let  you  catch  the  first  Ajax.  I  might  have 
prevented  you ;  I  might  have  even  caught  it  my 
self!" 

"  But  you  didn't,  did  you?  "  said  the  pitiless  Jones. 

"  Because,"  continued  the  Dryad,  flushing,  "  I  was 
generous  enough  to  think  only  of  capturing  the  but 
terflies,  while  all  the  time  it  appears  you  were  think- 

265 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

ing   of   something  else.      How    sordid !  "   she   added, 
scornfully. 

"  You  admit  I  won  the  bet  ?  "  persisted  that  mean 
est  of  men. 

"  I   admit  nothing,   Mr.    Jones." 

"Didn't  I  win  the  bet?" 

Silence. 

"  Didn't  I " 

"  Goodness,  yes  !  "  cried  the  Dryad.     "  Now  what 
are  you  going  to  do  about  it?  " 

"  You  said,"  observed  Jones,  "  that  you  would  for 
feit  anything  I  desired.     Didn't  you?  " 

The  Dryad  looked  at  him,  then  looked  away. 

"Didn't  you?" 

Silence. 

"  Di " 

"  Yes,  I  did." 

"  Then  I  am  to  ask  what  I  desire  ?  " 

No  answer. 

"  So,"  continued  Jones  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  do  ask 
it." 

Still  no  answer. 

"  Will  you " 

"  Mr.  Jones,"  she  said,  turning  a  face  toward  him 
on  which  was  written  utter  consternation. 

"  Will  you,"  continued  Jones,  "  permit  me  to  name 
the  first  new  butterfly  that  I  capture,  after  you  ?  " 

266 


Down  the  Seine 


Her  eyes  widened. 

"  Is — is  that  all  you  desire  ?  "  she  faltered.  Sud 
denly  her  eyes  filled. 

"  Absolutely  all,"  said  Jones,  simply — "  to.  name  a 
new  species  of  butterfly  after  my  wife " 

However,  that  was  the  simplest  part  of  the  whole 
matter;  the  trouble  was  all  ahead,  waiting  for  them 
on  the  veranda — two  hundred  pounds  of  wealthy 
trouble  sitting  in  a  rocking-chair,  tatting,  and  keep 
ing  tabs  upon  the  great  clock  and  upon  the  trolley 
cars  as  they  arrived  in  decorous  procession  from  the 
golf  links." 

There  was  a  long,  long  silence. 

"  Is — is  that  all? "  inquired  my  little  neigh 
bour. 

"  Can't  you  guess  the  rest  ?  " 

But  she  only  sighed,  looking  down  at  the  lace 
handkerchief  which  she  had  been  absently  twisting  in 
her  lap. 

"  You  know,"  said  I,  "  what  keys  unlock  the  mean 
ing  of  all  stories  ?  " 

She  nodded. 

"  The  keys  of  The  Past,"  I  said. 

She  sighed,  looking  down  into  her  smooth  little 
empty  hands: 

"  I  threw  them  away,  long  ago,"  she  said.  "  For 
267 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

me  there  remains  only  one  more  door.     And  that  un 
locks  of  itself." 

And  we  sat  there,  thinking,  through  the  still  sum 
mer  afternoon. 


CHAPTER    XXI 

IN    A    BELGIAN    GARDEN 

THAT  evening  I  found  Williams  curled  up  in 
his  corner  at  the  Cafe  Jaune. 

"  You   are  sun-burned,"  he   said,   inspect 
ing  me. 

"A  little.     I've  been  in  Florida." 
"What?" 

"With  the  ghosts  of  years  ago.  But  it  seemed 
very  realistic  to  me  as  I  sat  in  the  sun  and  recalled 
it.  Possibly  it  was  even  real  enough  to  sun-burn  me 
a  little." 

He  eyed  me  with  considerable  chagrin.  Perhaps 
he  thought  that  he  had  the  monopoly  of  poetic  fan 
cies.  It  was  most  agreeable  to  me  to  touch  him  up. 

269 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

They're  a  jealous  bunch,  those  whittlers  of  fact  into 
fiction. 

However,  he  brightened  as  he  drew  a  letter  from 
his  pocket: 

"  You  remember 'Kingsbury,  of  course?  "  he  asked. 

"  Perfectly." 

"  And  his  friend  Smith?" 

"  Certainly." 

"  I've  a  letter  here  from  Kingsbury.  He  expects 
to  be  in  Paris  this  autumn." 

"  I'd  like  to  see  him,"  said  I,  "  but  I'm  going  home 
before  Autumn." 

"  Haven't  you  seen  him  in  all  these  years  ?  " 

"  Not  once." 

"  And  you  never  heard " 

"  Oh,  go  on,  Williams,  and  tell  your  story.  I'm 
perfectly  willing  to  listen.  Cut  out  all  that  coy 
business  and  tear  off  a  few  page-proofs.  Besides," 
I  added,  maliciously,  "  I  know  how  it's  done, 
now." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  Because  I  did  a  little  in  that  line  myself  this 
afternoon.  Let  me  tell  you  something ;  there  isn't  a 
profession  in  all  the  world  which  can  be  so  easily  and 
quickly  acquired  as  yours.  Therefore  pin  no  more 
orders  and  ribbons  and  stars  and  medals  on  yourself* 
The  only  difference  between  you  and  your  public  is 

270 


In  a  Belgian  Garden 


that  they  have  no  time  to  practice  your  profession 
in  addition  to  their  own." 

Which  took  him  down  a  peg  or  two,  until  we  both 
took  down  another  peg  or  two.  But  when  I  called 
the  waiter  and  ordered  a  third,  he  became  more 
cheerful. 

"You're  a  jollier,"  he  said,  "aren't  you?" 

"I  did  a  little  this  afternoon.  Go  on  about  Kings- 
bury  and  Smithy.  After  all,  Williams,  you  really  do 
it  much  better  than  I." 

Which  mollified  him  amazingly,  and  he  began  with 
a  brisk  confidence  in  his  powers  of  narration : 

When  Kingsbury  had  finished  his  course  at  the  Uni 
versity  of  Paris,  there  appeared  to  be  little  or  nothing 
further  in  the  way  of  human  knowledge  for  him  to 
acquire.  However,  on  the  chance  of  disinterring  a 
fragment  or  two  of  amorphous  information  which  he 
might  find  use  for  in  his  projected  book,  The  Econ 
omy  of  Marriage,  he  allowed  himself  another  year  of 
travel,  taking  the  precaution  to  invite  Smith — the 
flippancy  of  Smith  being  calculated  to  neutralise  any 
over-intellectual  activity  in  himself. 

He  needed  a  rest ;  he  had  had  the  world  on  his  hands 
too  long — ever  since  his  twentieth  year.  Smith  was 
the  man  to  give  him  mental  repose.  There  was  no 
use  attempting  to  discuss  social  economy  with  Smith, 

271 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

or  of  interesting  that  trivial  and  inert  mind  in  race 
suicide.  Smith  was  flippant.  Often  and  often 
Kingsbury  thought :  "  How  can  he  have  passed 
through  The  University  of  Paris  and  remained  flip 
pant?  "  But  neither  Sorbonne  nor  Pantheon  pro 
duced  marked  effect  upon  Smith,  and  although  it  is 
true  that  Paris  horridly  appealed  to  him,  in  the  re 
mainder  of  Europe  he  found  nothing  better  to  do 
than  to  unpack  his  trout-rod  and  make  for  the  near 
est  puddle  wherever  they  found  themselves,  whether 
in  the  Alps,  the  Tyrol,  the  Vosges,  or  the  forests  of 
Belgium,  where  they  at  present  occupied  a  stucco- 
covered  villa  with  servants,  stables,  hot-houses,  and 
a  likely  trout  stream  for  Smith  to  dabble  in,  at  a 
sum  per  month  so  ridiculously  reasonable  that  I  shall 
not  mention  it  for  fear  of  depopulating  my  native 
land. 

Besides,  they  had  the  youthful  and  widowed  Coun 
tess  of  Semois  for  their  neighbour. 

And  so  it  came  about  that,  in  this  leafy,  sunny 
land  of  cream  and  honey,  one  very  lovely  morning, 
young  Kingsbury,  booted  and  spurred  and  still 
flushed  from  his  early  gallop  through  the  soft  wood- 
roads  of  the  forest,  found  Smith  at  breakfast  under 
the  grape-arbour,  immersed  in  a  popular  novel  and  a 
bowl  of  strawberries. 

"  Hello,"  said  Smith,  politely,  pushing  the  fruit 
272 


In  a  Belgian  Garden 


across  the  table.  "  The  berries  are  fine ;  I  took  a 
corking  trout  an  hour  ago;  we'll  have  it  directly." 

"  I  saw  the  Countess,"  said  Kingsbury,  carelessly 
unbuttoning  his  gloves  as  he  stood  there. 

"  Oh,  you  did?  Well,  which  one  is  the  Countess, 
the  girl  with  the  dark  hair,  or  that  stunning  red- 
haired  beauty  ?  " 

"How  could  I  tell?  I  couldn't  ride  up  and  ask, 
could  I?  They  were  driving,  as  usual.  The  King 
was  out,  too ;  I  wish  he'd  wear  a  decent  hat." 

"  With  the  moral  welfare  of  two  hemispheres  on 
your  hands,  you  ought  not  to  feel  responsible  for  the 
King's  derby,"  observed  Smith. 

Any  exaggeration  of  fact  always  perplexed  Kings- 
bury.  He  flattened  out  his  gloves,  stuck  his  riding- 
crop  into  his  left  boot,  and  looked  at  Smith  through 
his  monocle. 

"  For  all  the  talk  about  the  King,"  he  said,  "  the 
peasantry  salute  him  as  reverently  as  though  he  were 
their  father." 

To  which  Smith,  in  his  flippancy,  replied : 

"  The  children  for  their  monarch  pray, 

Each  buxom  lass  and  laddie  ; 
A  thousand  reasons  good  have  they 
To  call  the  King  their  daddy." 

Kingsbury   retired   to   make    his    toilet;   returned 
presently  smelling  less  of  the  stables,  seated  himself, 
19  273 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

drowned  a  dozen  luscious  strawberries  in  cream, 
tasted  one,  and  cast  a  patronising  eye  upon  the  trout, 
which  had  been  prepared  a  la  Meuniere. 

"  Corker,  isn't  he  ?  "  observed  Smith,  contemplat 
ing  the  fish  with  pardonable  pride.  "  He's  poached, 
I  regret  to  inform  you." 

"Poached?" 

"  Oh,  not  like  an  egg ;  I  mean  that  I  took  him  in 
private  waters.  It  was  a  disgusting  case  of  poach- 
ing." 

"  What  on  earth  did  you  do  that  for?  " 

"  Now,  I'll  explain  that  in  a  minute.  You  know 
where  our  stream  flows  under  the  arch  in  the  wall 
which  separates  our  grounds  from  the  park  next 
door?  Well,  I  was  casting  away  on  our  side,  never 
thinking  of  mischief,  when,  flip  !  flop  !  spatter !  splash ! 
and,  if  you  please,  right  under  the  water-arch  in  the 
wall  this  scandalous  trout  jumped.  Of  course,  I  put 
it  to  him  good  and  plenty,  but  the  criminal  creature, 
on  purpose  to  tempt  me,  backed  off  down  stream  and 
clean  through  the  arch  into  our  neighbour's  water. 

"'Is  it  poaching  if  I  go  over  after  him?' 
thought  I.  And,  Kingsbury,  do  you  know  I  had  no 
time  to  debate  that  moral  question,  because,  before  I 
could  reply  to  myself,  I  found  myself  hoisting  a  lad 
der  to  the  top  of  the  wall  and  lowering  it  on  the 
other  side — there  are  no  steps  on  the  other  side.  And 


In  a  Belgian  Garden 


what  do  you  think?  Before  I  could  rouse  myself 
with  the  cry  of  *  Trespasser !  Help ! '  I  found  my 
self  climbing  down  into  the  park  and  casting  a  fly 
with  sinful  accuracy. 

"  '  Is  it  right  ?  '  I  asked  myself  in  an  agony  of 
doubt.  But,  alas,  Kingsbury,  before  I  had  a  ghost 
of  a  chance  to  answer  myself  in  the  negative  I  had 
hooked  that  trout  fast;  and  there  was  the  deuce  to- 
pay,  for  I'd  forgotten  my  landing-net !  " 

He  shook  his  head,  helped  Kingsbury  to  a  portion 
of  the  trout,  and  refilled  his  own  cup.  "  Isn't  it. 
awful,"  he  said. 

"  It's  on  a  par  with  most  of  your  performances," 
observed  the  other,  coldly.  "  I  suppose  you  contin 
ued  your  foolish  conduct  with  that  girl,  too." 

"What  girl?" 

"  And  I  suppose  you  kissed  her  again !  Did 
you?" 

"  Kiss  a  girl?  "  stammered  Smith.  "  Where  have 
you  been  prowling?  " 

"  Along  the  boundary  wall  on  my  side,  if  you 
want  to  know.  A  week  ago  I  chanced  to  be  out  by 
moonlight,  and  I  saw  you  kiss  her,  Smith,  across  the 
top  of  the  park  wall.  It  is  your  proper  role,  of 
course,  to  deny  it,  but  let  me  tell  you  that  I  think  it's 
a  pretty  undignified  business  of  yours,  kissing  the 

Countess  of  Semois's  servants " 

275 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  What  the  deuce " 

"  Well,  who  was  it  you  kissed  over  the  top  of  the 
wall,  then?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Smith,  sullenly. 

"  You  don't  know !  It  wasn't  the  Countess,  was 
it?" 

"  Of  course  it  wasn't  the  Countess.  I  tell  you  I 
don't  know  who  it  was." 

"  Nonsense !  " 

"  No,  it  isn't.  What  happened  was  this :  I 
climbed  up  the  niches  to  sit  on  the  wall  by  moonlight 
and  watch  the  trout  jump;  and  just  as  my  head 
cleared  the  wall  the  head  of  a  girl  came  up  on  the 
other  side — right  against  the  moon,  so  it  was  just  a 
shadow — a  sort  of  silhouette.  It  was  an  agreeable 
silhouette ;  I  couldn't  really  see  her  features." 

"  That  was  no  reason  for  kissing  them,  was 
it?" 

"  No — oh,  not  at  all.  The  way  that  came  about 
was  most  extraordinary.  You  see,  we  were  both 
amazed  to  find  our  two  noses  so  close  together,  and  I 
said — something  foolish — and  she  laughed — the  pret 
tiest,  disconcerted  little  laugh,  and  that  moon  was 
there,  and  suddenly,  to  my  astonishment,  I  realised 
that  I  was  going  to  kiss  her  if  she  didn't  move.  .  .  . 
And— she  didn't." 

"  You  mean  to  say " 

276 


In  a  Belgian  Garden 


"  Yes,  I  do ;  I  haven't  the  faintest  notion  who  it 
was  I  kissed.  It  couldn't  have  been  the  Countess,  be 
cause  I've  neither  fought  any  duels  nor  have  I  been 
arrested.  I  refuse  to  believe  it  could  have  been  the 
cook,  because  there  was  something  about  that  kiss  in 
describably  aromatic — and,  Kingsbury,  she  didn't  say 
a  word — she  scarcely  breathed.  Now  a  cook  would 
have  screamed,  you  know " 

"  I  don't  know,"  interrupted  Kingsbury. 

"  No,  no,  of  course — neither  do  I." 

"  Idiot !  "  said  Kingsbury  wrathfully.  "  Suppose 
it  had  been  the  Countess  !  Think  of  the  consequences  1 
Keep  away  from  that  wall  and  don't  attempt  to  ape 
the  depravity  of  a  morally  sick  continent.  You 
shocked  me  in  Paris ;  you're  mortifying  me  here.  If 
you  think  I'm  going  to  be  identified  with  your  ragged 
morals  you  are  mistaken." 

"  That's  right ;  don't  stand  for  'em.  I've  been 
reading  novels,  and  I  need  a  jar  from  an  intelligence 
absolutely  devoid  of  imagination." 

"  You'll  get  it  if  you  don't  behave  yourself,"  said 
Kingsbury  complacently.  "  The  Countess  of  Semois 
probably  knows  who  we  are,  and  ten  to  one  we'll  meet 
her  at  that  charity  bazar  at  Semois-les-Bains  this 
afternoon." 

"  I'm  not  going,"  said  Smith,  breaking  an  egg. 

"  Not  going?  You  said  you  would  go.  Our  Am- 
277 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

bassador  will  be  there,  and  we  can  meet  the  Countess 
if  we  want  to." 

"  I  don't  want  to.  Suppose,  after  all,  I  had  kissed 
her!  No,  I'm  not  going,  I  tell  you." 

"  Very  well ;  that's  your  own  affair,"  observed  the 
other,  serenely  occupied  with  the  trout.  "  Perhaps 
you're  right,  too ;  perhaps  the  happy  scullion  whom 
you  honoured  may  have  complained  about  you  to  her 
mistress." 

Smith  sullenly  tinkled  the  bell  for  more  toast;  a 
doll-faced  maid  in  cap  and  apron  brought  it. 

"  Probably,"  said  Kingsbury  in  English,  "  that  is 
the  species  you  fondled " 

Smith  opened  his  novel  and  pretended  to  read; 
Kingsbury  picked  up  the  morning  paper,  propped  it 
against  a  carafe,  sipped  his  coffee,  and  inspected  the 
headlines  through  his  single  eyeglass.  For  a  few 
minutes  peace  and  order  hovered  over  the  American 
breakfast;  the  men  were  young  and  in  excellent  ap 
petite;  the  fragrance  of  the  flowers  was  not  too  in 
trusive  ;  discreet  breezes  stirred  the  leaves ;  and  well- 
behaved  little  birds  sang  judiciously  in  several  sur 
rounding  bushes. 

As  Kingsbury's  eyes  wandered  over  the  paper, 
gradually  focussing  up  a  small  paragraph,  a  frown 
began  to  gather  on  his  youthful  features. 

"  Here's  a  nice  business !  "  he  said,  disgusted. 
278 


In  a  Belgian  Garden 


Smith  looked  up  indifferently.  "  Well,  what  is 
it?  "  he  asked,  and  then,  seeing  the  expression  on  his 
friend's  face,  added :  "  Oh,  I'll  bet  I  know !  " 

"  This,"  said  Kingsbury,  paying  him  no  attention, 
"  is  simply  sickening." 

"  A  young  life  bartered  for  a  coronet  ?  "  inquired 
Smith,  blandly. 

"  Yes.  Isn't  it  shameful  ?  What  on  earth  are  our 
women  thinking  of?  Are  you  aware,  Smith,  that 
over  ninety-seven  and  three  tenths  per  cent  of  such 
marriages  are  unhappy?  Are  you?  Why,  I  could 
sit  here  and  give  you  statistics " 

"  Don't,  all  the  same." 

"  Statistics  that  would  shock  even  you.  And  I 
say  solemnly,  that  I,  as  an  American,  as  a  humani 
tarian,  as  a  student  of  social  economics " 

"  Help !  Help  !  "  complained  Smith,  addressing 
the  butter. 

"  Social  economics,"  repeated  the  other,  firmly,  "  as 
a  patriot,  a  man,  and  a  future  father,  I  am  astounded 
at  the  women  of  my  native  land !  Race  suicide  is  not 
alone  what  menaces  us ;  it  is  the  exportation  of  our 
finest  and  most  vigorous  stock  to  upbuild  a  bloodless 
and  alien  aristocracy  at  our  expense." 

Smith  reached  for  the  toast-rack. 

"  And  if  there's  one  thing  that  irritates  me,"  con 
tinued  Kingsbury,  "  it's  the  spectacle  of  wholesome 

279 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

American  girls  marrying  titles.  Every  time  they  do 
it  I  get  madder,  too.  Short-sighted  people  like  you 
shrug  their  shoulders,  but  I  tell  you,  Smith,  it's  a 
terrible  menace  to  our  country.  Beauty,  virtue, 
wealth,  all  are  being  drawn  away  from  America  into 
the  aristocratic  purlieus  of  England  and  the  Con 
tinent." 

"  Then  I  think  you  ought  to  see  about  it  at  once," 
said  Smith,  presenting  himself  with  another  slice  of 
toast. 

Kingsbury  applied  marmalade  to  a  muffin  and  flat 
tened  out  the  newspaper. 

"  I  tell  you  what,"  he  said,  "  some  American  ought 
to  give  them  a  dose  of  their  own  medicine." 

"How?" 

"  By  coming  over  here  and  marrying  a  few  of  their 
titled  women." 

Smith  sipped  his  coffee,  keeping  his  novel  open 
with  the  other  hand :  "  We  do  that  sort  of  thing 
very  frequently  in  literature,  I  notice.  There's  an 
American  doing  it  now  in  this  novel.  I've  read 
lots  of  novels  like  it,  too."  He  laid  his  head  on 
one  side,  musing.  "  As  far  as  I  can  calculate  from 
the  romantic  literature  I  have  absorbed,  I  should 
say  that  we  Americans  have  already  carried  off 
practically  all  of  the  available  titled  beauties  of 
Europe." 

280 


In  a  Belgian  Garden 


"  My  friend,"  said  Kingsbury,  coldly,  "  do  you 
realise  that  I  am  serious  ?  " 

"About  what?" 

"  About  this  scandalous  chase  after  titles.  In 
the  book  on  which  I  am  now  engaged  I  am  embodying 
the  following  economic  propositions :  For  every  good, 
sweet,  wholesome  American  girl  taken  from  America 
to  bolster  up  a  degenerate  title,  we  men  of  America 
ought  to  see  to  it  that  a  physically  sound  and  titled 
young  woman  be  imported  and  married  to  one  of  us." 

"Why  a  titled  one?" 

"  So  that  Europe  shall  feel  it  the  more  keenly," 
replied  Kingsbury  sternly.  "  I've  often  pondered 
the  matter.  If  only  one  American  could  be  found 
sufficiently  self-sacrificing  to  step  forward  and  set  the 
example  by  doing  it,  I  am  convinced,  Smith,  that  the 
tardy  \vheels  of  justice  would  begin  to  revolve  and 
rouse  a  nation  too  long  imposed  upon." 

"  Why  don't  you  do  something  in  that  way  your 
self?  There's  a  fine  physical  specimen  of  the  Bel 
gian  nobility  in  the  villa  next  door." 

"  I  don't  know  her,"  said  Kingsbury,  turning  a 
delicate  shell  pink. 

"  You  will  when  you  go  to  the  bazar.  Stop  fiddling 
with  that  newspaper  and  answer  me  like  a  man." 

But  Kingsbury  only  reopened  the  newspaper  and 
blandly  scanned  the  columns.  Presently  he  began 

281 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

muttering  aloud  as  he  skimmed  paragraph  after 
paragraph;  but  his  mutterings  were  ignored  by 
Smith,  who,  coffee-cup  in  hand,  was  again  buried  in 
his  novel. 

"  I've  a  mind  to  try  it,"  repeated  Kingsbury  in  a 
higher  key.  "  It  is  the  duty  of  every  decent  Ameri 
can  to  improve  his  own  race.  If  we  want  physical 
perfection  in  anything  don't  we  select  the  best  type 
obtainable?  Why  don't  we  do  it  in  marrying?  I 
tell  you,  Smith,  this  is  the  time  for  individual  cour 
age,  honesty  and  decency.  Our  duty  is  clear;  we 
must  meet  the  impoverishment,  which  these  titled 
marriages  threaten,  with  a  restless  counter-raid  into 
the  enemy's  country.  When  a  European  takes  from 
us  one  of  our  best,  let  us  take  from  Europe  her  best, 
health  for  health,  wealth  for  wealth,  title  for  title! 
By  Heaven,  Smith,  I'm  going  to  write  a  volume  on 
this." 

"  Oh,  you're  going  to  write  about  it !  " 

"  I  am." 

"  And  then  what?  "  asked  Smith,  taking  the  news 
paper  from  Kingsbury  and  opening  it. 

"What  then?  Why — why,  some  of  us  ought  to 
give  our  country  ari  example.  I'm  willing  to  do  it — 
when  I  have  time " 

"  Here's  your  chance,  then,"  urged  Smith,  study 
ing  the  society  column.  "  Here's  all  about  the  char- 

282 


In  a  Belgian  Garden 


ity  bazar  at  Semois-les-Bains  this  afternoon.  The 
Countess  sells  dolls  there.  Our  Ambassador  will  be 
on  hand,  and  you  can  meet  her  easily  enough.  The 
rest,"  he  added,  politely,  "  will,  of  course,  be  easy." 

Kingsbury  lighted  a  cigar,  leaned  back  in  his  chair, 
and  flung  one  booted  leg  over  the  other. 

"  If  I  were  not  here  in  Belgium  for  a  rest — "  he 
began. 

"  You  are — but  not  alone  for  bodily  and  mental  re 
pose.  Think  how  it  would  rest  your  conscience  to 
offset  that  marriage  which  has  irritated  you  by 
marrying  the  Countess  of  Semois — by  presenting  to 
your  surprised  and  admiring  country  a  superb  and 
titled  wife  for  patriotic  purposes." 

"  I  don't  know  which  she  is,"  retorted  Kingsbury, 
intensely  annoyed.  "  If  she's  the  tall  girl  with  dark 
hair  and  lots  of  colour  I  could  manage  to  fall  in  love 
easily  enough.  I  may  add,  Smith,  that  you  have  an 
extraordinary  way  of  messing  up  the  English  lan 
guage." 

He  arose,  walking  out  toward  the  gate,  where  the 
smiling  little  postman  came  trotting  up  to  meet  him, 
fishing  out  a  dozen  letters  and  papers. 

"  Letters  from  home,  Smith,"  he  observed,  strolling 
back  to  the  arbour.  "  Here's  one  for  you  " — he  laid 
it  beside  Smith's  plate — "  and  here's  one  from  my 
sister — I'll  just  glance  at  it  if  you'll  excuse  me."  He 

283 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

opened  it  and  read  placidly  for  a  few  moments. 
Then,  of  a  sudden  a  terrible  change  came  into 
his  face ;  he  hastily  clapped  his  monocle  to  his  eye, 
glared  at  the  written  page,  set  his  teeth,  and  crumpled 
it  furiously  in  his  hand. 

"  Smith,"  he  said,  hoarsely,  "  my  sister  writes  that 
she's  engaged  to  marry  an — an  Englishman !  " 

"  What  of  it?  "  inquired  Smith. 

"  What  of  it?  I  tell  you  my  sister — my  sister — 
my  sister — is  going  to  marry  a  British  title !  " 

"  She's  probably  in  love,  isn't  she?  What's  the 
harm " 

"Harm?" 

For  a  full  minute  Kingsbury  stood  petrified,  glar 
ing  at  space,  then  he  cast  his  cigar  violently  among 
the  roses. 

"  I  have  a  mind,"  he  said,  "  to  get  into  a  top  hat 
and  frock  coat  and  drive  to  Semois-les-Bains.  .  .  . 
You  say  she  sells  dolls  ?  " 

"  She's  due  to  sell  'em,  according  to  the  morning 
paper." 

For  a  few  moments  more  Kingsbury  paced  the 
lawn ;  colour,  due  to  wrath  or  rising  excitement, 
touched  his  smooth,  handsome  face,  deepening  the 
mask  of  tan.  He  was  good  to  look  upon,  and  one 
of  the  most  earnest  young  men  the  gods  had  ever 
slighted. 

284 


In  a  Belgian  Garden 


"You  think  I'm  all  theory,  don't  you?"  he  said, 
nervously.  "You  shrug  those  flippant  shoulders  of 
yours  when  I  tell  you  what  course  an  American  who 
honors  his  country  should  pursue.  Now  I'll  prove 
to  you  whether  or  not  I'm  sincere.  I  am  deliberately 
going  to  marry  the  Countess  of  Semois ;  and  this 
afternoon  I  shall  take  the  necessary  measures  to  fall 
in  love  with  her.  That,"  he  added,  excitedly,  "  can 
be  accomplished  if  she  is  the  dark-haired  girl  we've 
seen  driving." 

"  Now,  I  don't  suppose  you  really  intend  to  do 
such  a " 

"  Yes,  I  do !  It  sounds  preposterous,  but  it's  log 
ical.  I'm  going  to  practice  what  I  expect  to  spend 
my  life  in  preaching ;  that's  all.  Not  that  I  want  to 
marry  just  now — I  don't;  it's  inconvenient.  I  don't 
want  to  fall  in  love,  I  don't  want  to  marry,  I  don't 
want  to  have  a  dozen  children,"  he  said,  irritably; 
"  but  I'm  going  to,  Smith !  I'm  going  to,  for  the 
sake  of  my  country.  Pro  patria  et  gloria !  " 

"Right  away?" 

"  What  rot  you  talk,  sometimes !  But  I'm  ready 
to  make  my  words  mean  something;  I'm  ready  to 
marry  the  Countess  of  Semois.  There  is  no  possible 
room  for  doubt ;  any  man  can  marry  any  woman  he 
wants  to;  that  is  my  absolute  conviction.  Anyhow, 
I  shall  ask  her." 

285 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"As  soon  as  you  meet  her?  " 

"  Certainly  not.  I  expect  to  take  several  days 
about  it " 

"  Why  employ  several  days  in  sweet  dissembling  ?  " 

"  Confound  it,  I'm  not  going  to  dissemble !  I'm 
going  to  let  her  know  that  I  admire  her  the  moment 
I  meet  her.  I'm  going  to  tell  her  about  my  theory 
of  scientific  marriages.  If  she  is  sensible — if  she  is 
the  woman  America  requires — if  she  is  the  dark- 
haired  girl — she'll  understand."  He  turned  squarely 
on  Smith :  "  As  for  you,  if  you  were  the  sort  of 
American  that  you  ought  to  be  you  would  pick  out 
some  ornamental  and  wholesome  young  Belgian  aris 
tocrat  and  marry  her  in  the  shortest  time  that  de 
cency  permits !  That's  what  you'd  do  if  you  had  a 
scintilla  of  patriotism  in  your  lazy  make-up !  " 

"  No,  I  wouldn't " 

"  You  would !  Look  at  yourself — a  great,  hulk 
ing,  wealthy,  idle  young  man,  who  stands  around  in 
puddles  catching  fish  while  Europe  runs  off  our  love 
liest  women  under  your  bovine  nose.  Shame  on  you ! 
Have  you  no  desire  to  be  up  and  doing?  " 

"  Oh,  of  course,"  said  Smith,  unruffled ;  "  if  sev 
eral  passion-smitten  duchesses  should  climb  over  the 
big  wall  yonder  and  chase  me  into  the  garden " 

Kingsbury  swung  on  his  spurred  heels  and  strode 
into  the  house. 

286 


CHAPTER    XXII 

A    YOUTHFUL,    PATRIOT 

SMITH  sauntered  out  to  the  terrace,  looked  at 
the  sky,  sniffed  the  roses,  and  sat  down  in  the 
shadow  of  a  cherry  tree,  cocking  his  feet  up 
and  resting  his  novel  on  his  knees.  Several  hours 
later,  aroused  by  the  mellow  clash  of  harness  and 
noise  of  wheels,  he  looked  out  over  the  terrace  wall 
just  in  time  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  victoria  of  his 
neighbour,  gold  and  green  livery,  strawberry  roans, 
flashing  wheels  and  all;  and  quite  alone  under  her 
brilliant  sunshade,  the  dark-haired  girl  whom  Kings- 
bury  had  decided  to  marry  as  soon  as  he  could  ar 
range  to  fall  in  love  with  her. 

287 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  I  fancy  she's  the  Countess,  all  right,"  mused 
Smith ;  "  but,  to  me,  the  girl  with  red  hair  is  vastly 
more — more  alluring " 

The  sound  of  wheels  again  broke  the  thread  of  his 
sleepy  meditation  ;  their  dog-cart  was  at  the  gate ;  and 
presently  he  perceived  Kingsbury,  hatted  and  gloved 
to  perfection,  get  in,  take  the  reins  from  the  coach 
man,  loop  his  whip,  assume  the  posture  popularly  at 
tributed  to  pupils  of  Hewlett,  and  go  whirling  away 
through  the  lazy  sunshine  of  a  perfect  Belgian  after 
noon. 

"  The  beast  has  lunched  without  me,"  muttered 
Smith,  yawning  and  looking  at  his  watch.  Then  he 
got  up,  stretched,  tinkled  the  bell,  and  when  the  doll- 
faced  maid  arrived,  requested  an  omelet  a  la  Semois 
and  a  bottle  of  claret. 

He  got  it  in  due  time,  absorbed  it  lazily,  casting  a 
weatherwise  eye  on  the  sky  at  intervals  with  a  view 
to  afternoon  fishing ;  but  the  sun  was  too  bright ;  be 
sides,  his  book  had  become  interesting  in  a  somewhat 
maudlin  fashion,  inasmuch  as  the  lovers  must  come 
to  a  clinch  in  the  next  chapter  or  not  at  all. 

"  You  can't  tell  in  modern  novels,"  he  muttered ; 
"  a  girl  has  a  way  of  side-stepping  just  as  the  bell 
rings :  but  the  main  guy  ought  to  make  good  with 
in  the  next  page  or  two.  If  he  doesn't  he's  a 
dub ! " 


A  Youthful  Patriot 


With  which  comment  he  sought  his  hammock  for 
an  hour's  needed  repose ;  but  he  had  slumbered  longer 
than  that  when  he  found  himself  sitting  bolt  upright, 
the  telephone  bell  ringing  in  his  ears. 

Comfortably  awake  now,  he  slid  from  the  hammock, 
and,  entering  the  house,  stepped  into  the  smoking- 
room. 

"  Hello !  "  he  said,  unhooking  the  receiver. 

Kingsbury's  voice  replied :  "  I'm  here  in  Semois- 
les-Bains,  at  the  charity  bazar.  Can  you  distinguish 
what  I  say?" 

"  Perfectly,  my  Romeo  !     Proceed." 

"  I'm  in  a  fix.  Our  Ambassador  didn't  come,  and 
I  don't  know  anybody  to  take  me  over  and  present 
me." 

"Buy  a  doll,  idiot!" 

"Confound  it,  I've  already  bought  ten!  That 
doesn't  give  me  the  privilege  of  doing  anything  but 
buying  ten  more.  She's  busy  ;  about  five  million  peo 
ple  are  crowding  around  her." 

"  Buy  every  doll  she  has !  Put  her  out  of  business, 
man !  Then  if  you  can't  fix  it  somehow  you're  a 
cuckoo.  Is  the  Countess  the  dark-haired  girl?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  Isn't  she  here  selling  dolls  ?  Didn't  the  paper 
say  she  was  going  to  ?  " 

20  289 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  Yes — but  hadn't  you  better  find  out  for  certain 
before  you " 

"  I  am  certain ;  anyway,  I  don't  care.  Smith,  she 
is  the  most  radiantly " 

"  All  right ;  ring  off—" 

"  Wait !  I  wanted  to  tell  you  that  she  has  the 
prettiest  way  of  smiling  every  time  I  buy  a  doll. 
And  then,  while  she  wraps  up  the  infernal  thing  in 
ribbons  and  tissue  we  chat  a  little.  I'd  like  to  mur 
der  our  Ambassador !  Do  you  think  that  if  I  bought 
her  entire  stock " 

"  Yes,  I  do  !  " 

"What  do  you  think?" 

"  What  you  do." 

"  But  I  don't  think  anything  at  all.  I  am  asking 
you " 

"  Try  it,  anyhow." 

"  All  right.  Hold  the  wire,  Smith.  I'll  report 
progress " 


"  What !    Stand  here  and  wait " 

"  Don't  be  selfish.     I'll  return  in  a  moment." 
The  "  moment  "  stretched  into  a  buzzing,  crack 
ling  half   hour,   punctuated  by   impatient   inquiries 
from     Central.       Suddenly     an     excited :     "  Hello, 
Smith!" 

"  Hello,  you  infernal " 

"  I've  done  it !    I've  bought  every  doll !    She's  the 
290 


A  Youthful  Patriot 


sweetest  thing ;  I  told  her  I  had  a  plan  for  endowing 
a  ward  in  any  old  hospital  she  might  name,  and  she 
thinks  we  ought  to  talk  it  over,  so  I'm  going  to  sit 
out  on  the  terrace  with  her — Smith !  " 

"What?" 

"  Oh,  I  thought  you'd  gone !  I  only  wanted  to  say 
that  she  is  far,  far  lovelier  than  I  had  supposed.  I 
can't  wait  here  talking  with  you  any  longer.  Good- 
by!" 

"  Is  she  the  Countess  ?  "  shouted  Smith  incredu 
lously.  But  Kingsbury  had  rung  off. 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

ON    THE    WALL 

SMITH   retired   to   his   room  to  bathe,   clothed 
himself  in  snowy  linen  and  fresh  tennis  flan 
nels,  and  descended  again,  book  under  his  arm, 
to  saunter  forth  through  heavy  tangles  of  cinnamon- 
tinted  Flemish  roses  and  great  sweet-scented  peonies, 
musing  on  love  and  fate. 

"  Kingsbury  and  his  theories !  The  Countess  of 
Semois  will  think  him  crazy.  She'll  think  us  both 
crazy !  And  I  am  not  sure  that  we're  not ;  youth  is 
madness ;  half  the  world  is  lunatic !  Take  me,  for 
example;  I  never  did  a  more  unexpected  thing  than 
kissing  that  shadow  across  the  wall.  I  don't  know 
why,  I  don't  know  how,  but  I  did  it;  and  I  am  out 
of  jail  yet.  Certainly  it  must  have  been  the  cook. 
Oh,  Heavens !  If  cooks  kiss  that  way,  what,  what 
must  the  indiscretion  of  a  Countess  resemble?  .  .  . 


On  the  Wall 


She  did  kiss  back  ...  At  least  there  was  a  soft, 
tremulous,  perfumed  flutter — a  hint  of  delicate  coun 
ter-pressure " 

But  he  had  arrived  at  the  wall  by  that  time. 

"  How  like  a  woodland  paradise !  "  he  murmured 
sentimentally,  youthful  face  upraised  to  the  trees. 
"  How  sweet  the  zephyr !  How  softly  sing  the  dicky 
birds  !  I  wonder — I  wonder — "  But  what  it  was 
that  perplexed  him  he  did  not  say ;  he  stood  eying  the 
top  of  the  wall  as  the  furtive  turkey  eyes  its  selected 
roost  before  coyly  hopping  thither. 

"  What's  the  use?  If  I  see  her  I'll  only  take  fright 
and  skulk  homeward.  Why  do  I  return  again  and 
again  to  the  scene  of  guilt?  Is  it  Countess  or  cook 
that  draws  me,  or  some  one  less  exalted  in  the  culi 
nary  confine?  Why,  why  should  love  get  busy  with 
me?  Is  this  the  price  I  pay  for  that  guileless  kiss? 
Am  I  to  be  forever  '  it  '  in  love's  gay  game  of  tag?  " 

He  ascended  the  steplike  niche  in  the  wall,  peeped 
fearfully  over  into  his  neighbour's  chasse.  Tree  and 
tangle  slept  in  the  golden  light  of  afternoon ;  a  cock- 
pheasant  strutted  out  of  a  thicket,  surveyed  the  soli 
tude  with  brilliant  eyes,  and  strutted  back  again ;  a 
baby  rabbit  frisked  across  the  carrefour  into  the 
ferny  warren  beyond ;  and  "  Bubble,  bubble,  flowed 
the  stream,  like  an  old  song  through  a  dream." 

Sprawling  there  flat  on  top  of  the  sun-warmed 
293 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

stucco  wall,  white  sunlight  barring  the  pages  of  his 
book,  he  lifted  his  head  to  listen.  There  was  a  leafy 
stirring  somewhere,  perhaps  the  pheasant  rustling  in 
the  underbrush.  The  sing-song  of  the  stream 
threaded  the  silence ;  and  as  he  listened  it  seemed  to 
grow  louder,  filling  the  woods  with  low,  harmonious 
sounds.  In  the  shallows  he  heard  laughter;  in  the 
pouring  waterfalls,  echoes  like  wind-blown  voices 
calling.  Small  grey  and  saffron  tinted  birds,  passing 
from  twig  to  twig,  peered  at  him  fearlessly;  a  heavy 
green  lizard  vanished  between  the  stones  with  an  iri 
descent  wriggle.  Suddenly  a  branch  snapped  and  the 
underbrush  crackled. 

"  Probably  a  deer,"  thought  Smith,  turning  to 
look.  Close  inspection  of  the  thicket  revealed  noth 
ing;  he  dropped  his  chin  on  his  hands,  crossed  his 
legs,  and  opened  his  book. 

The  book  was  about  one  of  those  Americans  who 
trouble  the  peace  of  mind  of  Princesses ;  and  this 
was  the  place  to  read  it,  here  in  the  enchanted  still 
ness  of  the  ancient  Belgian  forest,  here  where  the 
sunshine  spread  its  net  on  fretted  waters,  where  lost 
pools  glimmered  with  azure  when  the  breeze  stirred 
overhead — here  where  his  neighbor  was  a  Countess 
and  some  one  in  her  household  wore  a  mass  of  gold- 
red  hair  Greek  fashion — and  Aphrodite  was  not 
whiter  of  neck  nor  bluer  eyed  than  she. 

294 


On  the  Wall 


The  romance  that  he  read  was  designed  to  be 
thickly  satisfying  to  American  readers,  for  it  de 
scribed  a  typical  American  so  accurately  that  Smith 
did  not  recognize  the  type.  Until  he  had  been  en 
lightened  by  fiction  he  never  imagined  Americans 
were  so  attractive  to  exotic  nobility.  So  he  read  on, 
gratified,  cloyed,  wondering  how  the  Princess,  al 
though  she  happened  to  be  encumbered  with  a  hus 
band,  could  stand  for  anything  but  ultimate  surren 
der  to  the  Stars  and  Stripes ;  and  trustfully  leaving 
it  to  another  to  see  that  it  was  done  morally. 

Hypnotized  by  the  approaching  crisis,  he  had  be 
gun  already  to  finger  the  next  page,  when  a  slight 
crash  in  the  bushes  close  by  and  the  swish  of  part 
ing  foliage  startled  him  from  romance  to  reality. 

But  he  had  looked  up  too  late ;  to  slink  away  was 
impossible;  to  move  was  to  reveal  himself.  It  was 
she!  And  she  was  not  ten  feet  distant. 

One  thing  was  certain :  whether  or  not  she  was  the 
shadowy  partner  of  his  kiss,  she  could  not  be  the 
Countess,  because  she  was  fishing,  unattended,  hat- 
less,  the  sleeves  of  her  shirtwaist  rolled  up  above  her 
white  elbows,  a  book  and  a  short  landing-net  tucked 
under  her  left  arm.  Countesses  don't  go  fishing  un 
attended  ;  gillies  carry  things.  Besides,  the  Countess 
of  Semois  was  in  Semois-les-Bains  selling  dolls  to 
Kingsbury. 

295 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

The  sun  glowed  on  her  splendid  red  hair;  she 
switched  the  slender  rod  about  rather  awkwardly,  and 
every  time  the  cast  of  flies  became  entangled  in  a 
nodding  willow  she  set  her  red  lips  tight  and  with  an 
impatient  "  Mais,  c'est  trop  bete!  Mais,  cest  mai- 
ment  trop " 

It  was  evident  that  she  had  not  seen  him  where  he 
lay  on  the  wall ;  the  chances  were  she  would  pass  on 
— indeed  her  back  was  already  toward  him — when 
the  unexpected  happened :  a  trout  leaped  for  a  gnat 
and  fell  back  into  the  pool  with  a  resounding  splash, 
sending  ring  on  ring  of  sunny  wavelets  toward  the 
shore. 

"  Ah !  Te  voila!  "  she  said  aloud,  swinging  her 
line  free  for  a  cast. 

Smith  saw  what  was  coming  and  tried  to  dodge, 
but  the  silk  line  whistled  on  the  back-cast,  and  the 
next  moment  his  cap  was  snatched  from  his  head  and 
deposited  some  twenty  feet  out  in  the  centre  of  the 
pool. 

The  amazement  of  the  fair  angler  was  equal  to 
his  own  as  she  looked  hastily  back  over  her  shoulder 
and  discovered  him  on  the  wall. 

There  is  usually  something  undignified  about  a 
man  whose  hat  has  been  knocked  off;  to  laugh  is  as 
fatal  as  to  show  irritation ;  and  Smith  did  neither, 
but  quietly  dropped  over  to  her  side  of  the  wall, 

296 


On  the  Wall 


saying,  "  I'm  awfully  sorry  I  spoiled  your  cast. 
Don't  mind  the  cap ;  that  trout  was  a  big  one,  and 
he  may  rise  again." 

He  had  spoken  in  English,  and  she  answered  in 
very  pretty  English :  "  I  am  so  sorry — could  I  help 
you  to  recover  your  hat?  " 

"  Thank  you ;  if  you  would  let  me  take  your  rod  a 
moment." 

"  Willingly,  monsieur." 

She  handed  him  the  rod;  he  loosened  the  line, 
measured  the  distance  with  practiced  eye,  turned  to 
look  behind  him,  and,  seeing  there  was  scant  room 
for  a  long  back-cast,  began  sending  loop  after  loop 
of  silken  line  forward  across  the  water,  using  the 
Spey  method,  of  which  none  except  an  expert  is 
master. 

The  first  cast  struck  half-way,  but  in  line;  the 
next,  still  in  line,  slipped  over  the  cap,  but  failed  to 
hook.  Then,  as  he  recovered,  there  was  a  boiling 
rush  in  the  water,  a  flash  of  pink  and  silver,  and  the 
rod  staggered. 

"  I — I  beg  your  pardon  !  "  he  exclaimed  aghast ; 
"  I  have  hooked  your  trout !  " 

"  Play  him,"  she  said  quickly.  The  elfin  shriek 
of  the  reel  answered;  he  gave  the  fish  every  ounce 
the  quivering  rod  could  spare,  the  great  trout  surged 
deeply,  swerved,  circled  and  bored  slowly  upstream. 

297 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  This  fish  is  magnificent,"  said  Smith,  guiltily. 
"  You  really  must  take  the  rod " 

"  I  shall  not,  indeed." 

"  But  this  is  not  fair !  " 

"  It  is  perfectly  fair,  monsieur — -and  a  won 
derful  lesson  in  angling  to  me.  Oh,  I  beg  you 
to  be  careful!  There  is  a  sunken  tree  limb  be 
yond!  " 

Her  cheeks  were  the  colour  of  wild  roses,  her  blue 
eyes  burned  like  stars. 

"  He's  down ;  I  can't  stir  him,"  said  Smith.  "  He's 
down  like  a  salmon !  " 

She  linked  her  hands  behind  her  back.  "  What  is 
to  be  done  ?  "  she  asked  calmly. 

"  If  you  would  gather  a  handful  of  those  pebbles 
and  throw  one  at  a  time  into  the  pool  where  he  is 
lying-  -" 

Before  he  finished  speaking  she  had  knelt,  filled  her 
palms  with  golden  gravel,  and  stood  ready  at  the 
water's  edge. 

"  Now?  "  she  nodded,  inquiringly. 

"  Yes,  one  at  a  time;  try  to  hit  him." 

The  first  pebble  produced  no  effect;  neither  did 
the  second,  nor  yet  the  third. 

"  Throw  a  handful  at  him,"  he  suggested,  and 
braced  himself  for  the  result.  A  spray  of  gravel 
fell;  the  great  fish  sulked  motionless. 

298 


On  the  Wall 


"  There's  a  way — "  began  Smith,  feeling  in  his 
pockets  for  his  key-ring.  It  was  not  there. 

"  Could  I  be  of  any  use  ?  "  she  asked,  looking  up 
at  Smith  very  guilelessly. 

"  Why,  if  I  had  something — a  key-ring  or  any 
thing  that  I  could  hang  over  the  taut  line — some 
thing  that  would  slide  down  and  jog  him  gently " 

"  A  hairpin  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I'm  afraid  it's  too  light." 

She  reflected  a  moment ;  her  bent  forefinger 
brushed  her  velvet  lips.  Then  she  began  to  unfasten 
a  long  gold  pin  at  her  throat. 

"  Oh,  not  that !  "  exclaimed  Smith,  anxiously.  "  It 
might  slip  off." 

"  It  can't ;  there's  a  safety  clasp.  Anyway,  we 
must  have  that  trout !  " 

"  But  I  could  not  permit " 

"  It  is  I  who  permit  myself,  monsieur." 

"  No,  no,  it  is  too  generous  of  you " 

"  Please !  "  She  held  the  pin  toward  him ;  he  shook 
his  head;  she  hesitated,  then  with  a  quick  movement 
she  snapped  the  clasp  over  the  taut  line  and  sent 
it  spinning  toward  the  invisible  fish. 

He  saw  the  gold  glimmer  become  a  spark  under 
water,  die  out  in  dusky  depths ;  then  came  a  rushing 
upheaval  of  spray,  a  flash,  the  rod  quivered  to  the 
reel-plate,  and  the  fight  began  in  fury.  The  rod  was 

299 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

so  slim,  so  light — scarce  three  ounces — that  he  could 
but  stand  on  the  defensive  at  first.  Little  by  little 
the  struggle  became  give  and  take,  then  imperceptibly 
he  forced  the  issue,  steadily,  delicately,  for  the  tackle 
was  gossamer,  and  he  fought  for  the  safety  of  the 
golden  clasp  as  well  as  for  his  honour  as  an  angler. 

"  Do  you  know  how  to  net  a  trout  ?  "  he  asked 
presently.  She  came  and  stood  at  his  shoulder,  net 
poised,  blue  eyes  intent  upon  the  circling  fish. 

"  I  place  it  behind  him,  do  I  not  ? "  she  asked 
coolly. 

"  Yes — when  I  give  the  word " 

One  more  swerve,  a  half  circle  sheering  homeward, 
nearer,  nearer 

A  moment  later  the  huge  trout  lay  on  the  moss ; 
iridescent  tints  played  over  its  broad  surface,  shim 
mering  hues  deepened,  waxing,  warning ;  the  spots 
glowed  like  rubies  set  in  bronze. 

Kneeling  there,  left  hand  resting  on  the  rod,  Smith 
looked  up  at  her  over  his  shoulder;  but  all  she  said 
was :  "  Ah,  the  poor,  brave  thing !  The  gallant  fish ! 
This  is  wrong — all  wrong.  I  wish  we  had  not  taken 
a  life  we  cannot  give  again." 

"  Shall  I  put  the  trout  back  madame  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  surprised. 

"  Would  you?  "  she  asked  incredulously. 

"  If  you  desire  it." 

300 


On  the  Wall 


"  But  it  is  your  fish." 

"  It  is  yours,  madame." 

"  Will  it  live?     Oh,  try  to  make  it  live !  " 

He  lifted  the  beautiful  fish  in  both  hands,  and, 
walking  to  the  water's  edge,  laid  it  in  the  stream. 
For  a  while  it  floated  there,  gold  and  silver  belly 
turned  to  the  sky,  gills  slowly  inflating  and  collaps 
ing.  Presently  a  fin  stirred;  the  spasmodic  move 
ment  of  the  gill-covers  ceased,  and  the  breathing  grew 
quiet  and  steady.  Smith  touched  the  pectoral  fins ; 
the  fish  strove  to  turn  over;  he  steadied  the  dorsal 
fin,  then  the  caudal,  righting  the  fish.  Slowly,  very 
slowly,  the  great  trout  moved  off,  farther,  farther, 
sinking  into  cool,  refreshing  depths ;  there  was  a  dull 
glitter  under  the  water,  a  shadow  gliding,  then  noth 
ing  except  the  green  obscurity  of  the  pool  criss 
crossed  with  surface  sunshine. 

When  Smith  turned  around  the  girl  was  pensively 
regarding  the  water.  His  cap  had  stranded  on  a 
shoal  almost  at  his  feet;  he  recovered  it,  wrung  the 
drops  from  it,  and  stood  twirling  it  thoughtfully  in 
the  sunlight. 

"  I've  ruined  it,  haven't  I  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  no ;  it's  a  shooting-cap.  Like  Tartarin,  I 
shall  probably  ventilate  it  later  in  true  Midi  fashion." 

She  laughed;  then,  with  the  flushed  composure  of 
uneasiness :  "  Thank  you  for  a  lesson  in  angling.  I 

301 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

have  learned  a  great  deal — enough  at  least  to  know 
that  I  shall  not  care  to  destroy  life,  even  in  a  fish." 

"  That  is  as  it  should  be,"  he  replied  coolly. 
"  Men  find  little  charm  in  women  who  kill." 

"  That  is  scarcely  in  accord  with  the  English  nov 
els  I  read — and  I  read  many,"  she  said  laughing. 

"  It  is  true,  nevertheless.  Saint  Hubert  save  us 
from  the  woman  who  can  watch  the  spark  of  life 
fade  out  in  the  eye  of  any  living  thing." 

"  Are  you  not  a  little  eccentric,  monsieur?  " 

"  If  you  say  so.  Eccentricity  is  the  full-blown 
blossom  of  mediocrity." 


\ 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

A    JOURNEY    TO    THE    MOON 

THERE  was  a  silence  so  politely  indifferent  on 
her  part  that  he  felt  it  to  be  the  signal  for  his 
dismissal.     And  he  took  his  leave  with  a  for 
mality  so  attractive,  and  a  good  humour  so  infor 
mal,  that  before  she  meant  to  she  had  spoken  again 
— a  phrase  politely  meaningless  in  itself,  yet — if  he 
chose  to  take  it  so — acting  as  a  stay  of  execution. 

"  I  was  wondering,"  he  said,  amiably,  "  how  I  was 
going  to  climb  back  over  the  wall." 

A  sudden  caprice  tinged  with  malice  dawned  in 
the  most  guileless  of  smiles  as  she  raised  her  eyes 
to  his: 

"  You  forgot  your  ladder  this  time,  didn't  you  ?  " 
Would  he  ever  stop  getting  redder?    His  ears  were 
afire,  and  felt  enormous. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  misunderstood  me,"  she  said, 
and  her  smile  became  pitilessly  sweet.  "  I  am  quite 

303 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

sure  a  distinguished  foreign  angler  could  scarcely 
condescend  to  notice  trespass  signs  in  a  half-ruined 
old  park " 

His  crimson  distress  softened  her,  perhaps,  for  she 
hesitated,  then  added  impulsively :  "  I  did  not  mean 
it,  monsieur;  I  have  gone  too  far " 

"  No,  you  have  not  gone  too  far,"  he  said.  "  I've 
disgraced  myself  and  deserve  no  mercy." 

"  You  are  mistaken ;  the  trout  may  have  come  from 
your  side  of  the  wall " 

"  It  did,  but  that  is  a  miserable  excuse.  Nothing 
can  palliate  my  conduct.  It's  a  curious  thing,"  he 
added,  bitterly,  "  that  a  fellow  who  is  decent  enough 
at  home  immediately  begins  to  do  things  in  Europe." 

"What  things,  monsieur?" 

"  Ill-bred  things ;  I  might  as  well  say  it.  Theo 
retically,  poaching  is  romantic;  practically,  it's  a 
misdemeanor — the  old  conflict  between  realism  and 
romance,  madame — as  typified  by  a  book  I  am  at 
present  reading — a  copy  of  the  same  book  which  I 
notice  you  are  now  carrying  under  your  arm." 

She  glanced  at  him,  curious,  irresolute,  waiting  for 
him  to  continue.  And  as  he  did  not,  but  stood 
moodily  twirling  his  cap  like  a  sulky  schoolboy,  she 
leaned  back  against  a  tree,  saying :  "  You  are  very 
severe  on  romance,  monsieur." 

"  You  are  very  lenient  with  reality,  madame." 
304 


A  Journey  to  the  Moon 


"  How  do  you  know?  I  may  be  far  more  angry 
with  you  than  you  suspect.  Indeed,  every  time  I 
have  seen  you  on  the  wall — "  she  hesitated,  paling 
a  trifle.  She  had  made  a  mistake,  unless  he  was  more 
stupid  than  she  dared  hope. 

"  But  until  this  morning  I  had  done  nothing  to 
anger  you  ?  "  he  said,  looking  up  sharply.  Her  fea 
tures  wore  the  indifference  of  perfect  repose;  his  la 
tent  alarm  subsided.  She  had  made  no  mistake  in 
his  stupidity. 

And  now,  perfectly  conscious  of  the  irregularity 
of  the  proceedings,  perhaps  a  trifle  exhilarated  by 
it,  she  permitted  curiosity  to  stir  behind  the  curtain, 
ready  for  the  proper  cue. 

"  Of  course  ,"  he  said,  colouring,  "  I  know  you  per 
fectly  well  by  sight " 

"  And  I  you,  monsieur — perfectly  well.  One  no 
tices  strangers,  particularly  when  reading  so  fre 
quently  about  them  in  romance.  This  book  " — she 
opened  it  leisurely  and  examined  an  illustration — 
"  appears  to  describe  the  American  quite  perfectly. 
So,  having  read  so  much  about  Americans,  I  was  a 
trifle  curious  to  see  one." 

He  did  not  know  what  to  say ;  her  youthful  face 
was  so  innocent  that  suspicion  subsided. 

"  That  American  you  are  reading  about  is  merely 
a  phantom  of  romance,"  he  said  honestly.  "  His 
21  305 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

type,  if  he  ever  did  exist,  would  become  such  a  public 
nuisance  in  Europe  that  the  police  would  take  charge 
of  him — after  a  few  kings  and  dukes  had  finished 
thrashing  him." 

"  I  do  not  believe  you,"  she  said,  with  a  hint  of 
surprise  and  defiance.  "  Besides,  if  it  were  true, 
what  sense  is  there  in  destroying  the  pleasure  of  illu 
sion?  Romance  is  at  least  amusing;  reality  alone  is 
a  sorry  scarecrow  clothed  in  the  faded  rags  of  dreams. 
Do  you  think  you  do  well  to  destroy  the  tinted  film 
of  romance  through  which  every  woman  ever  born 
gazes  at  man — and  pardons  him  because  the  rain 
bow  dims  her  vision  ?  " 

She  leaned  back  against  the  silver  birch  once  more 
and  laid  her  white  hand  flat  on  the  open  pages  of  the 
book: 

"  Monsieur,  if  life  were  truly  like  this,  fewer  tears 
would  fall  from  women's  eyes — eyes  which  man,  in 
his  wisdom,  takes  pains  to  clear — to  his  own  destruc 
tion  !  " 

She  struck  the  book  a  light  blow,  smiling  up  at 
him: 

"  Here  in  these  pages  are  spring  and  youth  eter 
nal — blue  skies  and  roses,  love  and  love  and  love 
unending,  and  once  more  love,  and  the  world's 
young  heart  afire!  Close  the  book  and  what  re 
mains  ?  "  She  closed  the  covers  very  gently.  "  What 

306 


A  Journey  to  the  Moon 


remains  ? "    she    asked,    raising    her    blue    eyes    to 
him. 

"  You  remain,  madame." 

She  flushed  with  displeasure. 

"  And  yet,"  he  said,  smiling,  "  if  the  hero  of  that 
book  replied  as  I  have  you  would  have  smiled.  That 
is  the  false  light  the  moon  of  romance  sheds  in  com 
petition  with  the  living  sun."  He  shrugged  his  broad 
shoulders,  laughing :  "  The  contrast  between  the 
heroine  of  that  romance  and  you  proves  which  is  the 
lovelier,  reality  or  romance " 

She  bit  her  lips  and  looked  at  him  narrowly,  the 
high  colour  pulsating  and  dying  in  her  cheeks.  Un 
der  cover  of  the  very  shield  that  should  have  pro 
tected  her  he  was  using  weapons  which  she  herself 
had  sanctioned — the  impalpable  weapons  of  romance. 

Dusk,  too,  had  already  laid  its  bloom  on  hill  and 
forest  and  had  spun  a  haze  along  the  stream — dusk, 
the  accomplice  of  all  the  dim,  jewelled  forms  that  peo 
ple  the  tinted  shadows  of  romance.  Why — if  he  had 
displeased  her — did  she  not  dismiss  him?  It  is  not 
with  a  question  that  a  woman  gives  a  man  his  conge. 

"Why  do  you  speak  as  you  do?"  she  asked, 
gravely.  "  Why,  merely  because  you  are  clever,  do 
you  twist  words  into  compliments.  We  are  scarcely 
on  such  a  footing,  monsieur." 

"  What  I  said  I  meant,"  he  replied,  slowly. 
307 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  Have  I  accorded  you  permission  to  say  or 
mean  ?  " 

"  No ;  that  is  the  fashion  of  romance — a  pretty 
one.  But  in  life,  sometimes,  a  man's  heart  beats  out 
the  words  his  lips  deliver  untricked  with  verbal  tin 
sel." 

Again  she  coloured,  but  met  his  eyes  steadily 
enough. 

"  This  is  all  wrong,"  she  said ;  "  you  know  it ;  I 
know  it.  If,  in  the  woman  standing  here  alone  with 
you,  I  scarcely  recognise  myself,  you,  monsieur,  will 
fail  to  remember  her — if  chance  wills  it  that  we  meet 
again." 

"  My  memory,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  is  con 
trolled  by  your  mind.  What  you  forget  I  cannot 
recall." 

She  said,  impulsively,  "  A  gallant  man  speaks  as 
you  speak — in  agreeable  books  of  fiction  as  in  real 
ity.  Oh,  monsieur " — and  she  laughed  a  pretty, 
troubled  laugh — "  how  can  you  expect  me  now  to 
disbelieve  in  my  Americans  of  romance  ?  " 

She  had  scarcely  meant  to  say  just  that;  she  did 
not  realise  exactly  what  she  had  said  until  she  read 
it  in  his  face — read  it,  saw  that  he  did  not  mean  to 
misunderstand  her,  and,  in  the  nervous  flood  of  re 
lief,  stretched  out  her  hand  to  him.  He  took  it,  laid 
his  lips  to  the  fragrant  fingers,  and  relinquished  it. 

308 


A  Journey  to  the  Moon 


Meanwhile  his  heart  was  choking  him  like  the  clutch 
of  justice. 

"  Good-by,"  she  said,  her  outstretched  hand  sus 
pended  as  he  had  released  it,  then  slowly  falling.  A 
moment's  silence;  the  glow  faded  from  the  sky,  and 
from  her  face,  too ;  then  suddenly  the  blue  eyes  glim 
mered  with  purest  malice: 

"  Having  neglected  to  bring  your  ladder  this  time, 
monsieur,  pray  accept  the  use  of  mine."  And  she 
pointed  to  a  rustic  ladder  lying  half-buried  in  the 
weedy  tangle  behind  him. 

He  gave  himself  a  moment  to  steady  his  voice: 
"  I  supposed  there  was  a  ladder  here — somewhere," 
he  said,  quietly. 

"  Oh !  And  why  did  you  suppose — "  She 
spoke  too  hurriedly,  and  she  began  again,  pleasantly 
indifferent :  "  The  foresters  use  a  ladder  for  pruning,, 
not  for  climbing  walls." 

He  strolled  over  to  the  thicket,  lifted  the  light  lad 
der,  and  set  it  against  the  wall.  When  he  had  done 
this  he  stepped  back,  examining  the  effect  attentively ; 
then,  as  though  not  satisfied,  shifted  it  a  trifle,  sur 
veyed  the  result,  moved  it  again,  dissatisfied. 

"  Let  me  see,"  he  mused  aloud,  "  I  want  to  place  it 
exactly  where  it  was  that  night — "  He  looked 
back  at  her  interrogatively.  "  Was  it  about  where 
I  have  placed  it?  " 

309 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

Her  face  was  inscrutable. 

"  Or,"  he  continued,  thoughtfully,  "  was  it  an  inch 
or  two  this  way?  I  could  tell  exactly  if  the  moon 
were  up.  Still  " — he  considered  the  ladder  atten 
tively — "  I  might  be  able  to  fix  it  with  some  accuracy 
if  you  would  help  me.  Will  you?  " 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  it  is  nothing — still,  if  you  wouldn't  mind  aid 
ing  me  to  settle  a  matter  that  interests  me — would 
you?" 

"  With  pleasure,  monsieur,"  she  said,  indiffer- 
€ntly.  "  What  shall  I  do?  " 

So  he  mounted  the  ladder,  crossed  the  wall,  and 
stood  on  a  stone  niche  on  his  side,  looking  down  at 
the  ladder.  "  Now,"  he  said,  "  if  you  would  be  so 
amiable,  madame,  as  to  stand  on  the  ladder  for  one 
moment  you  could  aid  me  immensely." 

"  Mount  that  ladder,  monsieur?  " 

She  caught  his  eyes  fixed  on  her;  for  just  an  in 
stant  she  hesitated,  then  met  them  steadily  enough; 
indeed,  a  growing  and  innocent  curiosity  widened  her 
gaze,  and  she  smiled  and  lifted  her  pretty  shoulders 
— just  a  trifle,  and  her  skirts  a  trifle,  too;  and,  with 
a,  grace  that  made  him  tremble,  she  mounted  the  lad 
der,  step  by  step,  until  her  head  and  shoulders  were 
on  a  level  with  his  own  across  the  wall. 

"  And  now  ?  "  she  asked,  raising  her  eyebrows. 
310 


A  Journey  to  the  Moon 


"  The  moon,"  he  said,  unsteadily,  "  ought  to  be 
about — there !  " 

"  Where  ?  "  She  turned  her  eyes  inquiringly  sky 
ward. 

But  his  heart  had  him  by  the  throat  again,  and  he 
was  past  all  speech. 

"  Well,  monsieur  ?  "  She  waited  in  sweetest  pa 
tience.  Presently :  "  Have  you  finished  your  astro 
nomical  calculations?  And  may  I  descend?"  He 
tried  to  speak,  but  was  so  long  about  it  that  she  said 
very  kindly :  "  You  are  trying  to  locate  the  moon, 
are  you  not?  " 

"  No,  madame — only  a  shadow." 

"A  shadow,  monsieur?" — laughing. 

"  A  shadow — a  silhouette." 

"Of  what?" 

"  Of   a — a  woman's   head  against  the  moon." 

"  Monsieur,  for  a  realist  you  are  astonishingly  ro 
mantic.  Oh,  you  see  I  was  right !  You  do  belong  in 
a  book." 

4  You,  also,"  he  said,  scarcely  recognising  his  own 
voice.  "  Men — in  books — do  well  to  risk  all  for  one 
word,  one  glance  from  you ;  men — in  books — do  well 
to  die  for  you,  who  reign  without  a  peer  in  all  ro 
mance " 

"  Monsieur,"  she  faltered. 

But  he  had  found  his  voice — or  one  something  like 
311 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

it — and  he  said :  "  You  are  right  to  rebuke  me ;  ro 
mance  is  the  shadow,  life  the  substance ;  and  you  live ; 
and  as  long  as  you  live,  living  men  must  love  you ;  as 
I  love  you,  Countess  of  Semois." 

"  Oh,  she  breathed,  tremulously,  "  oh, — you  think 
that?  You  think  /  am  the  Countess  of  Semois?  And 
that  is  why " 

For  a  moment  her  wide  eyes  hardened,  then  flashed 
brilliant  with  tears. 

"  Is  that  your  romance,  monsieur  ? — the  romance 
of  a  Countess !  Is  your  declaration  for  mistress  or 
servant? — for  the  Countess  or  for  her  secretary — 
who  sometimes  makes  her  gowns,  too?  Ah,  the  sorry 
romance!  Your  declaration  deserved  an  audience 
more  fitting " 

"  My  declaration  was  made  a  week  ago !  The  moon 
and  you  were  audience  enough.  I  love  you." 

"  Monsieur,  I — I  beg  you  to  release  my  hand " 

"  No ;  you  must  listen — for  the  veil  of  romance  is 
rent  and  we  are  face  to  face  in  the  living  world !  Do 
you  think  a  real  man  cares  what  title  you  wear,  if  you 
but  wear  his  name?  Countess  that  you  are  not — if 
you  say  you  are  not — but  woman  that  you  are,  is 
there  anything  in  Heaven  or  earth  that  can  make 
love  more  than  love?  Veil  your  beautiful  true  eyes 
with  romance,  and  answer  me;  look  with  clear,  un 
troubled  eyes  upon  throbbing,  pulsating  life ;  and  an- 


A  Journey  to  the  Moon 


swer  me !  Love  is  no  more,  no  less,  than  love.  I  ask 
for  yours ;  I  gave  you  mine  a  week  ago — in  our  first 
kiss." 

Her  face  was  white  as  a  flower ;  the  level  beauty  of 
her  eyes  set  him  trembling. 

"  Give  me  one  chance,"  he  breathed.  "  I  am  not 
mad  enough  to  hope  that  the  lightning  struck  us  both 
at  a  single  flash.  Give  me,  in  your  charity,  a  chance 
— a  little  aid  where  I  stand  stunned,  blinded,  alone — 
you  who  can  still  see  clearly !  " 

She  did  not  stir  or  speak  or  cease  to  watch  him 
from  unwavering  eyes ;  he  leaned  forward,  drawing 
her  inert  hands  together  between  his  own ;  but  she 
freed  them,  shivering. 

"  Will  you  not  say  one  word  to  me  ?  "  he  faltered. 

"  Three,  monsieur."  Her  eyes  closed,  she  covered 
them  with  her  slender  hands  :  "  I —  love —  you." 

Before  the  moon  appeared  she  had  taken  leave  of 
him,  her  hot,  young  face  pressed  to  his,  striving  to 
say  something  for  which  she  found  no  words.  In 
tremulous  silence  she  turned  in  his  arms,  unclasping 
his  hands  and  yielding  her  own  in  fragrant  adieu. 

"  Do  you  not  know,  oh,  most  wonderful  of  lovers 
— do  you  not  know?  "  her  eyes  were  saying,  but  her 
lips  were  motionless ;  she  waited,  reluctant,  trem 
bling.  No,  he  could  not  understand — he  did  not 

313 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

care,  and  the  knowledge  of  it  suffused  her  very  soul 
with  a  radiance  that  transfigured  her. 

So  she  left  him,  the  promise  of  the  moon  silvering 
the  trees.  And  he  stood  there  on  the  wall,  watching 
the  lights  break  out  in  the  windows  of  her  house — 
stood  there  while  his  soul  drifted  above  the  world  of 
moonlit  shadow  floating  at  his  feet. 

"  Smith !  " 

Half  aroused,  he  turned  and  looked  down.  The 
moonlight  glimmered  on  Kingsbury's  single  eyeglass. 
After  a  moment  his  senses  returned ;  he  descended  to 
the  ground  and  peered  at  Kingsbury,  rubbing  his 
eyes. 

With  one  accord  they  started  toward  the  house, 
moving  slowly,  shoulder  to  shoulder. 

"  Not  that  I  personally  care,"  began  Kingsbury. 
66 1  am  sorry  only  on  account  of  my  country.  I  was, 
perhaps,  precipitate;  but  I  purchased  one  hundred 
and  seven  dolls  of  Mademoiselle  Plessis — her  private 
secretary " 

"What!" 

"  With  whom,"  continued  Kingsbury,  thought 
fully,  "  I  am  agreeably  in  love.  Such  matters,  Smith, 
cannot  be  wholly  controlled  by  a  sense  of  duty  to 
one's  country.  Beauty  and  rank  seldom  coincide 
except  in  fiction.  It  appears  " — he  removed  his  sin 
gle  eyeglass,  polished  it  with  his  handkerchief,  re- 

314 


A  Journey  to  the  Moon 


placed  it,  and  examined  the  moon — "  it  appears,"  he 
continued  blandly,  "  that  it  is  the  Countess  of  Semois 
who  is — ah — so  to  speak,  afflicted  with  red  hair.  .  .  . 
The  moon — ahem — is  preternaturally  bright  this 
evening,  Smith." 

After  a  moment  Smith  halted  and  turned,  raising 
his  steady  eyes  to  that  pale  mirror  of  living  fire  above 
the  forest. 

"  Well,"  began  Kingsbury,  irritably,  "  can't  you 
say  something?  " 

"  Nothing  more  than  I  have  said  to  her  already — 
though  she  were  Empress  of  the  World !  "  murmured 
Smith,  staring  fixedly  at  the  moon. 

"  Empress  of  what?     I  do  not  follow  you." 

"  No,"  said  Smith,  dreamily,  "  you  must  not  try 
to.  It  is  a  long  journey  to  the  summer  moon — a 
long,  long  journey.  I  started  when  I  was  a  child;  I 
reached  it  a  week  ago;  I  returned  to-night.  And 
do  you  know  what  I  discovered  there?  Why,  man, 
I  discovered  the  veil  of  Isis,  and  I  looked  behind  it. 
And  what  do  you  suppose  I  found?  A  child,  Kings- 
bury,  a  winged  child,  who  laughingly  handed  me  the 
keys  of  Eden !  What  do  you  think  of  that?  " 

But  Smith  had  taken  too  many  liberties  with  the 
English  language,  and  Kingsbury  was  far  too  mad 
to  speak. 


CHAPTER    XXV 

THE    ARMY    OF    PARIS 

I    WAS   smoking  peacefully   in  the   conservatory 
of  the   hotel,  when  a  bellboy  brought   me   the 
card  of  Captain  le  Vicomte  de  Cluny. 
In  due  time   Monsieur   the   Viscount   himself   ap 
peared,  elegant,  graceful,   smart;  black   and  scarlet 
uniform   glittering    with   triple-gold    arabesques    on 
sleeve  and  Kepi,  spurs  chiming  with  every  step. 

We  chatted  amiably  for  a  few  moments ;  then  the 
Captain,  standing  very  erect  and  stiff,  made  me  a 
beautiful  bow  and  delivered  the  following  remarkable 
question : 

"  Monsieur  Van  Twillaire,  I  am  come  to-day  ac 
cording  to  the  American  custom,  to  beg  your  per- 

316 


The  Army  of  Paris 


mission  to  pay  my  addresses  to  mademoiselle,  your 
daughter." 

I  inhaled  the  smoke  of  my  cigarette  in  my  astonish 
ment.  That  was  bad  for  me.  After  a  silence  I 
asked : 

"Which  daughter?" 

"  Mademoiselle  Dulcima,  monsieur." 

After  another  silence  I  said: 

"  I  will  give  you  an  answer  to-morrow  at  this 
hour." 

We  bowed  to  each  other,  solemnly  shook  hands,  and 
parted. 

I  was  smoking  restlessly  in  the  conservatory  of  the 
hotel  when  a  bellboy  brought  me  the  card  of  Captain 
le  Vicomte  de  Barsac. 

In  due  time  the  Vicomte  himself  appeared,  elegant, 
graceful,  smart;  black,  scarlet,  and  white  uniform 
glittering  with  triple-gold  arabesques  on  sleeve  and 
Kepi,  spurs  chiming  with  every  step. 

We  chatted  amiably  for  a  few  moments ;  then  the 
Captain,  standing  very  erect  and  stiff,  made  me  a 
beautiful  bow  and  delivered  the  following  remarkable 
question : 

"  Monsieur  Van  Twillaire,  I  am  come  to-day  ac 
cording  to  the  American  custom,  to  beg  your  per 
mission  to  pay  my  addresses  to  mademoiselle,  your 
daughter." 

317 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

I  dropped  my  cigarette  into  the  empty  fireplace. 

"  Which  daughter?  "  I  asked,  coldly. 

"  Mademoiselle  Dulcima,  monsieur." 

After  a  silence  I  said : 

"  I  will  give  you  an  answer  to-morrow  at  this 
hour." 

We  bowed  to  each  other,  solemnly  shook  hands,  and 
parted. 

I  was  smoking  violently  in  the  conservatory  of  the 
hotel,  when  a  bellboy  brought  me  a  card  of  my  old 
friend,  Gillian  Van  Dieman. 

In  due  time  Van  Dieman  appeared,  radiant,  smil 
ing,  faultlessly  groomed. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  it's  about  time  you  came  over 
from  Long  Island,  isn't  it?  My  daughters  expected 
you  last  week." 

"  I  know,"  he  said,  smiling ;  "  I  couldn't  get  away, 
Peter.  Didn't  Alida  explain?  " 

"  Explain  what?  "  I  asked. 

66  About  our  engagement." 

In  my  amazement  I  swallowed  some  smoke  that 
was  not  wholesome  for  me. 

"  Didn't  she  tell  you  she  is  engaged  to  marry  me?  '" 
he  asked,  laughing. 

After  a  long  silence,  in  which  I  thought  of  many 
things,  including  the  formal  offers  of  Captains  de 
Barsac  and  Torchon  de  Cluny,  I  said  I  had  not  heard 

318 


The  Army  of  Paris 


of  it,  and  added  sarcastically  that  I  hoped  both  he 
and  Alida  would  pardon  my  ignorance  on  any  mat 
ters  which  concerned  myself. 

"  Didn't  you  know  that  Alida  came  over  here  to 
buy  her  trousseau  ?  "  he  inquired  coolly. 

I  did  not,  and  I  said  so. 

"  Didn't  you  know  about  the  little  plot  that  she 
and  I  laid  to  get  you  to  bring  her  to  Paris  ?  "  he  per 
sisted,  much  amused. 

I  glared  at  him. 

"  Why,  Peter,"  he  said,  "  when  you  declared  to 
me  in  the  clubhouse  that  nothing  could  get  you  to 
Paris  unless,  through  your  own  stupidity,  something 
happened  to  your  pig " 

I  turned  on  him  as  red  as  a  beet. 

"  I  know  you  stole  that  pig,  Van !  " 

"  Yes,"  he  muttered  guiltily. 

"  Then,"  said  I  earnestly,  "  for  God's  sake  let  it 
rest  where  it  is,  and  marry  Alida  whenever  you 
like!" 

"  With  your  blessing,  Peter?  "  asked  Van  Dieman, 
solemnly. 

"  With  my  blessing — dammit !  " 

We  shook  hands  in  silence. 

"  Where  is  Alida  ?  "  he  asked  presently. 

"  In  her  room,  surrounded  by  thousands  of  dress 
makers,  hatmakers,  mantua-makers,  furriers,  experts 

319 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

in    shoes,    lingerie,    jewelry,    and    other   inexpensive 
trifles,"  said  I  with  satisfaction. 

But  the  infatuated  man  never  winced. 

"  You  will  attend  to  that  sort  of  thing  in  the  fu 
ture,"  I  remarked. 

The  reckless  man  grinned  in  unfeigned  de- 
light. 

"  Come,"  said  I,  wearily,  "  Alida  is  in  for  all  day 
with  her  trousseau.  I've  a  cab  at  the  door;  come 
on!  I  was  going  out  to  watch  the  parade  at  Long- 
champs.  Now  you've  got  to  go  with  me  and  tell  me 
something  about  this  temperamental  French  army 
that  seems  more  numerous  in  Paris  than  the  civil 
ians." 

"  What  do  you  want  to  see  soldiers  for?  "  he  ob 
jected. 

"  Because,"  said  I,  "  I  had  some  slight  experience 
with  the  army  this  morning  just  before  you  arrived; 
and  I  want  to  take  a  bird's-eye  view  of  the  whole 
affair." 

"  But  I " 

"  Oh,  we'll  return  for  dinner  and  then  you  can  see 
Alida,"  I  added.  "  But  only  in  my  company.  You 
see  we  are  in  France,  Van,  and  she  is  the  jeune  file 
of  romance." 

"  Fudge !  "  he  muttered,  following  me  out  to  the 
cab. 

320 


The  Army  of  Paris 


"  We  will  drive  by  the  Pont  Neuf,"  he  suggested. 
"  You  know  the  proverb  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  I;  "  what  proverb?  " 

"  The  bridegroom  who  passes  by  the  Pont  Neuf 
will  always  meet  a  priest,  a  soldier,  and  a  white  horse. 
The  priest  will  bless  his  marriage,  the  soldier  will  de 
fend  it,  the  white  horse  will  bear  his  burdens  through 
life." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  passing  the  Pont  Neuf,  we  did 
see  a  priest,  a  soldier,  and  a  white  horse.  But  it  is 
a  rare  thing  not  to  meet  this  combination  on  the 
largest,  longest,  oldest,  and  busiest  bridge  in  Paris. 
All  three  mascots  are  as  common  in  Paris  as  are 
English  sparrows  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne. 

I  bought  a  book  on  the  quay,  then  re-entered  the 
taxi  and  directed  the  driver  to  take  us  to  the  race 
course  at  Longchamps. 

Our  way  led  up  the  Champs  Ely  sees,  and,  while 
we  whirled  along,  Van  Dieman  very  kindly  told  me  as 
much  about  the  French  army  as  I  now  write,  and  for 
the  accuracy  of  which  I  refer  to  my  future  son-in- 
law. 

There  are,  in  permanent  garrison  in  Paris,  about 
thirty  thousand  troops  stationed.  This  does  not  in 
clude  the  famous  Republican  Guard  corps,  which  is 
in  reality  a  sort  of  municipal  gendarmerie,  composed 
of  several  battalions  of  infantry,  several  squadrons 
22  321 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 


of  gorgeous  cavalry,  and  a  world-famous  band,  which 
corresponds  in  functions  to  our  own  Marine  Band 
at  Washington. 

The  barracks  of  the  regular  troops  are  scattered 
about  the  city,  and  occupy  strategic  positions  as  the 
armouries  of  our  National  Guard  are  supposed  to  do. 
All  palaces,  museums  of  importance,  and  government 
buildings  are  guarded  day  and  night  by  infantry. 
The  cavalry  guard  only  their  own  barracks ;  the  ma 
rines,  engineers,  and  artillery  the  same. 

At  night  the  infantry  and  cavalry  of  the  Repub 
lican  Guard  post  sentinels  at  all  theatres,  balls,  and 
public  functions.  In  front  of  the  Opera  only  are 
the  cavalry  mounted  on  their  horses,  except  when 
public  functions  occur  at  the  Elysees  or  the  Hotel 
de  Ville. 

In  the  dozen  great  fortresses  that  surround  the 
walls  of  Paris,  thousands  of  fortress  artillery  are 
stationed.  In  the  suburbs  and  outlying  villages  ar 
tillery  and  regiments  of  heavy  and  light  cavalry  have 
their  permanent  barracks — dragoons,  cuirassiers, 
chasseurs-a-cheval,  field  batteries,  and  mounted  bat 
teries.  At  Saint  Cloud  are  dragoons  and  remount 
troopers ;  at  Versailles  the  engineers  and  cuirassiers 
rule  the  region ;  and  the  entire  Department  of  the 
Seine  is  patrolled  by  gendarmes,  mounted  and  on 
foot. 


The  Army  of  Paris 


When  we  reached  the  beautiful  meadow  of  Long- 
champs,  with  its  grand-stand  covered  with  waving 
flags  and  the  sunshine  glowing  on  thousands  of  bril 
liant  parasols,  we  left  the  taxi,  and  found  a  place 
on  what  a  New  Yorker  would  call  "  the  bleachers." 
The  bleachers  were  covered  with  pretty  women,  so 
we  were  not  in  bad  company.  As  for  the  great  cen 
tral  stand,  where  the  President  of  the  Republic  sat 
surrounded  by  shoals  of  brilliant  officers,  it  was  a 
mass  of  colour  from  flagstaff  to  pelouse. 

The  band  of  the  Republican  Guards  was  thunder 
ing  out  one  of  Sousa's  marches ;  the  vast  green  plain 
glittered  with  masses  of  troops.  Suddenly  three  can 
non-shots  followed  one  another  in  quick  order;  the 
band  ended  its  march  with  a  long  double  roll  of 
drums ;  the  Minister  of  War  had  arrived. 

"  They're  coming,"  said  Van  Dieman.  "  Look ! 
Here  come  the  Saint-Cyrians.  They  lead  the  march 
one  year,  and  the  Polytechnic  leads  it  the  next.  But 
I  wish  they  could  see  West  Point — just  once." 

The  cadets  from  Saint-Cyr  came  marching  past, 
solid  ranks  of  scarlet,  blue,  and  silver.  They  marched 
pretty  well ;  they  ride  better,  I  am  told.  After  them 
came  the  Polytechnic,  in  black  and  red  and  gold,  the 
queer  cocked  hats  of  the  cadets  forming  a  quaint  con 
trast  to  the  toy  soldier  headgear  of  the  Saint-Cyr 
soldiers.  Following  came  battalion  after  battalion 

323 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 


of  engineers  in  sombre  uniforms  of  red  and  dark  blue, 
then  a  bizarre  battalion  of  Turcos  or  Algerian  Rifle 
men  in  turbans  and  pale  blue  Turkish  uniforms,  then 
a  company  of  Zouaves  in  scarlet  and  white  and  blue, 
then  some  special  corps  which  was  not  very  remark 
able  for  anything  except  the  bad  fit  of  its  clothing. 

After  them  marched  solid  columns  of  line  infantry, 
great  endless  masses  of  dull  red  and  blue,  passing 
steadily  until  the  eye  wearied  of  the  monotony. 

Trumpets  were  sounding  now;  and  suddenly,  the 
superb  French  artillery  passed  at  a  trot,  battery 
after  battery,  the  six  guns  and  six  caissons  of  each 
in  mathematically  perfect  alignment,  all  the  gunners 
mounted,  and  not  a  man  sitting  on  limber  or  caisson. 

In  my  excitement  I  rose  and  joined  the  roar  of 
cheers  which  greeted  the  artillerymen  as  battery  after 
battery  passed,  six  guns  abreast. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Van  Dieman,  laughing.  "  Look ! 
Here  come  the  cavalry !  " 

In  two  long  double  ranks,  ten  thousand  horsemen 
were  galloping  diagonally  across  the  plain — Hussars 
in  pale  robin's-egg  blue  and  black  and  scarlet,  Chas- 
seurs-a-cheval  in  light  blue  and  silver  tunics,  Dra 
goons  armed  with  long  lances  from  which  fluttered  a 
forest  of  red-and-white  pennons,  Cuirassiers  cased  in 
steel  helmets  and  corselets — all  coming  at  a  gallop, 
sweeping  on  with  the  earth  shaking  under  the  thun- 

324 


The  Army  of  Paris 


der  of  forty  thousand  horses'  hoofs,  faster,  faster, 
while  in  the  excitement  the  vast  throng  of  spectators 
leaped  up  on  the  benches  to  see. 

There  was  a  rumble,  a  rolling  shock,  a  blast  from 
a  hundred  trumpets.  "  Halt !  " 

Then,  with  the  sound  of  the  rushing  of  an  ocean, 
ten  thousand  swords  swept  from  their  steel  scab 
bards,  and  a  thundering  cheer  shook  the  very  sky: 
"  VIVE  LA  REPUBLIC  !  " 

That  evening  we  dined  together  at  the  Hotel 
— Alida,  Dulcima,  Van  Dieman,  and  I. 

Alida  wore  a  new  ring  set  with  a  brilliant  that 
matched  her  shining,  happy  eyes.  I  hoped  Van  Die 
man  might  appear  foolish  and  ill  at  ease,  but  he  did 
not. 

"  There  is,"  said  he,  "  a  certain  rare  brand  of 
champagne  in  the  secret  cellars  of  this  famous  cafe. 
It  is  pink  as  a  rose  in  colour,  and  drier  than  a  British 
cigar.  It  is  the  only  wine,  except  the  Czar's  Tokay., 
fit  to  drink  to  the  happiness  of  the  only  perfect 
woman  in  the  world." 

"  And  her  equally  perfect  sister,  father  and 
fiance,"  said  I.  "  So  pray  order  this  wonderful  wine, 
Van,  and  let  me  note  the  brand ;  for  I  very  much  fear 
that  we  shall  need  another  bottle  at  no  distant  date." 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Dulcima,  colouring  to  her  hair. 
325 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

"  Because,"  said  I,  "  the  French  army  is  expected 
to  encamp  to-morrow  before  this  hotel." 

"  Cavalry  or  artillery?  "  she  asked  faintly. 

"  Both,"  said  I ;  "so  let  us  thank  Heaven  that  we 
escape  the  infantry,  at  least.  Alida,  my  dear,  your 
health,  happiness,  and  long,  long  life !  " 

We  drank  the  toast  standing. 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $I.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


OCT   14  ;93 

6 

SENT  ON  ILL 

AUG   2  1938 

rco  n  9  1QQK 

rrn  u  ^  OTJ 

U.  C.  BERKELEY 

OCT  Sd  IQIQ 

•*r*     G9O9 

f)f\f 

°C1  *>  1939 

°fC  IflKfo,, 

'VKJrjl. 

MARajJM4  w 

JWn  |itJ    l&rt 

-^_t 

LD  21-100m-8,'34 

73064 


U.C.BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


912806 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  UBRARY 


